Beyond: Too Fake
by Kadrian
Summary: Blind, but not hopeless, Alex was sent to Werner Academy. MI6 suspected that an organization is arming and training students behind the pretense of an academy. It was merely school days until the man he thought long dead showed up and he realized that the truth he thought knew were suddenly Too Fake. [Sequel to Beyond: Too Late]
1. Prologue

A.N.: I'm back. That was one long break I've had. Anyway, thank you for your patience in the past few weeks I'm sorry that my procrastination took over a bit every now and then so that this prologue was postponed. But still, it's out now, so yay me.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except the plot and any new characters.

Before I continue, I just want to point out a few things I changed base on the reviews from the last chapter. I actually really was planning to send Alex on the mission two weeks after he is out of the hospital, but then he wouldn't be much help. So, cookie for the review~

Okay, now I'm done. Onwards.

* * *

The supposing two to three weeks until the mission turned into three months. Not that Alex was going to complain. The doctor was pretty surprised and pleased to announce that he could officially manage to walk on his legs, by himself, without the supports of the crutches that strained his arms. It was hard to manage at first, but by and by the pain and tweaks vanished. All that was left was for his blindness to go away.

Alex had gotten used to the blackness that was once the light before his eyes. He could easily find his ways around the house and the neighborhood without aid. It would take him awhile to be familiar with a new environment, but he could manage within a few weeks.

He was lounging on the sofa and listening to the TV when the phone rang.

He reached over, "Hello."

"Your presence is required. A car has been sent over to you." Mrs. Jones said without preamble.

Alex grimaced as he hung up without replying. He didn't need to, Mrs. Jones knew that he wouldn't decline. It was kind of like a resigned fate for him. He didn't have anything else to do anymore, what was better than to just throw himself back in the life he once was? Well, maybe there was school and a chance to be normal again, whatever normal meant. But after his half a year trip to America, not even a year he thought with a pang, and the absences during Brecon Beacon, he doubted that he should even return to Brooklyn. Of course, as Mrs. Jones had pointed out, he was goddammit sixteen. He was supposed to be in his third year, not fourth. He still had time to be normal again.

Alex snorted as he got up from the sofa and turned off the TV. He heard a car stopping outside the door and a moment later, the doorbell was rung. Alex opened the door.

Luckily, the man spoke first or Alex could have had to try to find the man's eyes and failing miserably in the process, "Agent Rider?"

"That would be me," Alex smiled, meeting the man's eyes, or where he supposed they were.

The drive was silent, not that Alex was expecting any merriments or cheerful conversations. The agent that was sent to pick him up didn't sound like he wanted to talk either. When the man finally pulled up by the bank, Alex was the out of the car the next instant after bidding farewell, just to be polite, to the man. He received a grunt in return. At least there was some progress.

He could easily find his way around the bank now for he had spent a fairly large amount of time in the bank after he was out of the hospital. Talking with Smithers about possible gadgets that could make him sense things easier. Smithers had apologetically told him that only Jedi could harness the force. He didn't know that Smithers had that sense of humor.

Someone else got into the elevator with him but he kept his gaze straight, ignoring whoever it was. That would make him look superior without even trying. A few times he felt the man wanted to converse but reframed in the end after a moment of considerations.

The elevator door slid open as it reached the floor and Alex exited, feeling the man exiting the elevator behind him as well. Same floor, coincidence? He thought so. Mrs. Jones's room was approximately thirty-two steps forward and an immediate right turn to the door. There was also a small airstream blowing out from the ceiling right outside Mrs. Jones's room. Alex had a guess as to when and why it was installed. He stopped outside the door and knocked.

"Come in," Mrs. Jones said almost immediately.

Alex opened the door and pushed to close it behind him but someone stopped him. It was that man who had walked into the elevator again. Alex turned and did his best glare at where he supposed the man's eyes were.

"That will be Agent Caver," Mrs. Jones supplied, "You might know him as Wolf."

Alex started, "Wolf?"

"Coyote," The man who held the door open answered gruffly. Alex released his hold on the handle to allow the man in.

"He's an agent?" Alex frowned as he walked into the room and took a seat at his 'special' seat that Mrs. Jones had set up for him. He swore that she must have superglued it to the floor because he couldn't move it at all, "Since when?"

"Since two months ago," Mrs. Jones said, "Take a seat." It was directed to Wolf.

Alex's eyes widened as the realization hit him, "He is my partner for the mission?"

"I'm glad that your brain is still working after the long break," Mrs. Jones slapped it in almost bluntly.

Alex fell silent.

"Agent Caver, meet Agent Rider. Rider, Caver," Mrs. Jones did her quick introduction, "Any questions you have for him, Agent Rider, it can wait."

Alex nodded, shooting Wolf a glance. The shot must have missed because Wolf commented, "You were actually glaring at my shoulder."

"You've grown taller," That was all Alex could think of as an excuse.

"Here is the briefing," Mrs. Jones said hardly, interrupting him.

Alex heard papers rustling and something thrust into his hands. A folder. Well, not that he could see anyways, but just to humor Mrs. Jones who clearly handed him the folder because of protocols, he flipped open to the first page.

"Werner Academy," Mrs. Jones began, "A year-long academy for all ethnicities, including disabilities and age. Four days in school per week. It was three months ago when we first caught wind of activities in the academy."

The mission suddenly brought back memories of Point Blank. Alex grimaced.

"They are arming students, regardless of the age, and teaching them how to wield guns and weapons."

"Regardless of age?" Alex asked.

"The academy welcomes everyone as students regardless of their age," Mrs. Jones turned toward him, "Like I said, all ethnicities and ages." Alex nodded and she continued, "The reason as to why I rescheduled the mission three months ago was because the yearly three month break was exactly one week later if I had sent you three months earlier. The agent we sent in five months ago returned empty-handed, saying that the trainings definitely did took place but he was never told of it. Apparently there are students in the facility that aren't aware of the trainings. They are the ones that won't be trained by them."

"Because of disabilities or illness?"

"No," Mrs. Jones said and Alex heard the rustle of clothes as she shook her head, "We do not know exactly what traits they are looking for in students."

"So we're supposed to find that out and flip the whole organization?" Alex asked sarcastically.

"Not quite," Mrs. Jones ignored his tone, "Your mission is to become one of them. Gain the inside information then we will haul you out and take the place."

Alex's lips twitched, "Sounds fun."

"There are four different grade levels," Mrs. Jones said, "Age thirteen and below, fourteen to twenty-nine, thirty to forty, and the rest remaining. It is rather fortunate that you are both in the same range. Barely, I must say."

"Why are you sending two agents?" Alex asked.

"Originally, you are the only one scheduled for this mission," Mrs. Jones said, "But due to your temporary disabilities, Agent Caver has been added as a supporting agent."

Alex heaved a great sigh, "And?"

"Your new identity, Feighton Winchester," Mrs. Jones said, "Male, sixteen years old. Father and mother both deceased, living with half-brother Dean Remington. That's all you need to know for now. Agent Caver can fill you in on the rest."

"And that Dean Remington, my brother, I suppose will be Wolf?" Alex asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Correct."

"Great. Just great."

* * *

~Extra large cookies for those who know where I get the name Winchester from~

A.N.: I have been browsing the internet looking for information about Wolf. I remembered reading that he was Hispanic somewhere? I'm not sure. But the only thing that was mentioned was that he was British nationality. That's why I didn't give him a Spanish last name because I don't want to follow the wrong information. Do correct me if I'm wrong. ^ ^


	2. What Do You See?

A.N.: This chapter is kind of short. I don't know why, but the first few chapters are always short. Probably because I can't give out too much just yet. O.O

Thank you so much for reviewing the last chapter 3

Cookies to all those who mentioned Supernatural. Winchester is the last name of the main characters in that TV series (And Wolf's fake name Dean is also from that). Remington, since Winchester is the name of a gun, I figured why not make them both gun brands...

Anyway, onward~

* * *

Step, step, pause. The sound of the wind and feeling the texture of the warm breeze on his skin. Corridor. They were in a corridor. The sound echoed just slightly enough for him to recognize that.

Step. Step.

"That's the wall," Wolf, Agent Caver, said behind him.

Alex gave his best glare as he tried his best to navigate through the unfamiliar territory of the school campus.

"Very helpful, Dean," Alex grumbled as he paused, putting a hand in front of himself to make sure that he didn't crash into the wall Wolf mentioned.

"I don't get why she's sending you on a mission," He could almost imagine the ex-soldier crossing his arms behind him, "When you're barely able to walk."

"Walls have ears, my dear brother," Alex said nonchalantly, "We can talk later."

They were in Werner Academy two days prior to the first day of school, registration day for the two of them, after the long three-month break. It was a chance for Alex to get used to the campus so that he could navigate around easier. Even though Alex told himself that he was ready for the mission, he felt that he wasn't. He didn't know why Mrs. Jones would want him on this one. Like Wolf said, he could barely walk by himself. If he couldn't see, what was the use of that? Use the Force?

"Let's have a long talk afterward," Wolf's tone was full of sarcasm.

Alex grunted. This was their third walk through the campus. The first time was catastrophic for he had crashed into almost every other wall in the main building. There was a total of five floors in the building and there were only two staircases connecting the five floors, located in the east and west wings. The first floor was the cafeteria, a floor dedicated for all the other non-academic purposes. The second floor was for age thirteen and below, the third floor was theirs, and the fourth and fifth were separated according to the age group as well. There was also an adjacent building where the students sleep. The student dorms. Under request, he was put in the same room as his 'half-brother'. Alex didn't know if he should be feeling relieved that at least he would be with someone he knew, or be dreading to have to share a room with Wolf of all person.

"I think I have it down," Alex finally said as he made his way back down to the first floor, sitting down on one of the sofas without missing the furniture, "Pretty much. I hope."

Without knowing how, Alex felt Wolf's gaze on him, "Do you know the schedule?"

"We have pretty much the same schedule," Alex said.

"Except the one right before the break for lunch," Wolf corrected him.

"I can manage."

"Let's head back home," Wolf's clothes ruffled as he stood up from the seat.

Alex snorted, "Yeah, home, my dear brother."

Wolf growled as he leaned in closer and hissed quietly, "Don't be a smart brat, Coyote. We're on a mission, act like it."

"Well, in case you haven't notice, I'm trying, Dean," Alex nearly snapped.

Wolf was silent for a moment before he turned by his heels, "Let's go. The car's outside."

Alex stood up as well, steadying himself with the sturdy arms of the sofa before making his way slowly but surely out the front door that he knew was covered by glass. What color the glass was, he didn't know.

The car that they have was given to them from MI6 for the mission. Mrs. Jones had told him that it was white. That was a big change from the usual black sleek cars and Alex honestly really would want to see that.

Fumbling slightly, he pulled open the shotgun door and stepped inside with his right foot first, waiting until he was seated to pull his left foot in and shut the door with an inward pull by his elbow.

"Seatbelt," Wolf grunted.

Alex reached over and pulled it across his torso, clipping it to the right corner.

Wolf started the engine and they pulled out of the campus smoothly, exiting the gate that Alex knew that they would pass after approximately fifty meters out the front door of the main building. Wolf made an immediate right turn once exiting the campus and they pulled onto the main road.

Alex reached into the compartment of the car and grabbed the bug sweeper, sweeping the whole car twice before satisfied, setting it back into the compartment and closed it behind him.

Wolf must have turned slightly toward him because when he spoke, the voice projected like he had turned, "No bug?"

"No."

"So why did Mrs. Jones send you on this mission?"

"I don't know," Alex shook his head, "There must be something here."

Wolf snorted.

"Why did you become an agent?" Alex asked, turning toward the man.

Wolf was silent for a moment, "It was mostly Bear's idea."

Alex raised an eyebrow skeptically, "And?"

"That's it," Wolf was clearly reluctant to share, "And you said you were an agent long before Brecon?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

Alex really thought about it. Three years. Three to four years, he couldn't exactly recount. The age he gave Wolf was twenty. So in Wolf's mind, he was twenty. Eighteen was what most people considered the legal age. He honestly wouldn't want to tell Wolf that he had started working for MI6 when he was fourteen.

"Two years," Alex replied, "When I was eighteen."

"How did they recruit you?" Wolf asked.

"I showed my heroic bravery and they were awed and stunned by me," Alex replied dryly, "And they asked me to join them."

This time, he was sure that Wolf turned his head fully toward him with a glare for a moment before turning back to face the road, "How did they recruit you?"

"Exactly like I said," Alex smiled. That wasn't entirely a lie after all. It was the fact that MI6 saw whatever his father and uncle had in him, their inner…spy-ness.

To his surprise, Wolf didn't press any further, "How long will your blindness last?"

Alex shrugged, "I don't know."

Wolf shifted, "Is it hard?"

Alex was taken aback by Wolf's sincerity. Really taken aback, "Dean, are you all right? Are you sick or something?"

"No, _Feighton_ ," Wolf growled, "Be thankful that your _big brother_ is actually showing you some care."

"Perfect," Alex replied cheerfully, "I think we will act along perfectly fine, don't you think so too, Dean?"

Another right turn and they arrived at their temporary 'home'. It was a one-story house, 'rented' to them from MI6. If the school ever wanted to search through their history, they would find that the house was actually a house left by Dean Remington's long dead father and they had moved into the house just about a month ago. If the school happen to find the right document, they might even find a photocopy of their airplane tickets.

Wolf got out of the car and Alex did the same, shutting the door behind him loudly. The loud sound reached his ears and dispersed into the surrounding. If there was ever something called the perfect sound, Alex would consider the loud sound as one of them. It echoed into nothing but it told him that he wasn't alone. That there was something other than him out there. Being blind was sometimes scary, downright scary. You couldn't see what is in front of him. Nothing. There was nothing he could see. Not even black. What he saw was what others might describe as nothing, the same view one might get if they closed one eye. It wasn't black, it was just…nothing.

Alex heard the sound of the key scratching the keyhole for a moment before inserted fully and turned. The lock opened and the door creaked as Wolf pushed it inward. He found it almost amusing as to how much his hearing and other senses had heightened in the past three months without his sight.

Somehow, it wasn't so bad.

"You coming?" Wolf grunted out the statement.

Alex sighed as he headed inside, stepping above the slight rise of the edge of the door and closing the glossy wooden door on his way in. As he seated himself in the small living room, facing the window-he knew it was window because he felt the breeze floating past-, Wolf did a bug sweep of the house. When the search turned out clean, Wolf sat down to the left of him on a second chair.

"How would you like to start the mission?" Wolf asked.

"The normal way," Alex said as he turned toward the man and when Wolf didn't reply, thinking that it was a sarcastic remark, Alex elaborated, "We don't know who and how they're going to choose the students. We just have to pretend to be a normal student. Act normal, be normal, _make_ yourself normal."

Wolf shifted in his seat, "And if they don't choose either of us?"

Alex smiled, "Then we will do our little spy work."

Wolf growled in mild irritation, "Do you ever cease that lighthearted attitude of yours? This is a mission, it's not a fucking game."

"What do you want me to do?" Alex felt his own frustration starting to seep out, "Sit here and brood all day?"

"Well, no," Wolf said and unbeknownst to Alex, Wolf eyed him carefully, "Be more serious. This is dangerous, hell, even more than the missions in Brecon. We will be killed at even a slight misstep."

"I have my own ways to cope with it," Alex said, "You can do whatever you want."

"Damn it, Coyote," Wolf gritted his teeth, "We're supposed to be a team."

"That was back in the camp," Alex returned.

The spy world would not tolerate any relationships. Ties would only drag them down. He had started to like and respect Wolf, he didn't want anyone taking advantage of their 'team'-ness, as Wolf had put it. Alex smiled humorlessly at the word usage.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothing," Alex shook his head then abruptly, he said, "I think I'll go take a walk."

"For fuck's sake," Wolf sounded as if he couldn't decide whether to be exasperated or irritated, "You're blind!"

Even though he knew it, Alex couldn't help but felt the words impaling him straight through. Yeah, he was blind. So what? So he couldn't do things by himself? So he couldn't even take a _fucking_ walk?

"Thanks for pointing that out," Alex replied, "I never know that before. Oh wait, I think I did, for three months already. Yes, Wolf, I'm blind."

"I don't mean it that way."

Alex stood up and turned toward the door, measuring his steps carefully in his head, "I'll be outside. Give me a few minutes."

He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. The warm afternoon breeze didn't do much to sooth his mind. Alex stepped forward, feeling the texture of grass beneath his shoes. There was a small yard in front of the house with a chair on the side. He headed toward it, feeling the sun shining upon him. If he could see, he probably would have shaded his eyes and complained about the light. Alex seated himself in the metal vine chair and leaned back.

Why did Mrs. Jones send him on this mission? Why him? He was, like Wolf said, blind for fuck's sake. He couldn't do a single thing right and proper without his vision. This mission was almost like a suicide mission. He was literally useless.

Alex heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps closing in.

Wolf stopped right before him, blocking the sunlight, "Listen, we're p-"

"Is dinner ready, Dean?" Alex interrupted the man.

He felt the bafflement from Wolf a moment before the man understood his intentions, "Yes, Feigh."

Alex narrowed his eyes. From Feighton to Feigh? Either Wolf was lazy to pronounce the whole name or he was acting the part of the brother.

Alex stood up and brushed down the crease he knew that was present on his shirt, "Let's go inside. Maybe we can talk a little over dinner."

* * *

Ian Chevalier stood before the large monitor screen, his hands in his pocket and his gaze pensive as he observed the security footage broadcasted on the screen. It was the tape from four months ago when the police station down here first caught wind of Werner Academy's possible military academy, training students in military techniques and arming them with firearms. For what purpose, they intended to find out.

"Inspector Chevalier?" A man, one of the policemen, asked as he walked into the room.

"That will be me," Ian turned and remarked almost dryly.

"The new officer is here," The man said.

Ian checked the paper before him on the desk before glancing at the police, "Evans?"

"Yes, that one."

"Show him in."

"Yes, sir."

The man walked away, leaving the door open behind him. Ian smiled but without humor. This Anthony Evans, he suspected, was more than what was on the paper.

The policeman walked back in with a man behind him. The slight familiarity was what hit him immediately but he couldn't put a finger on as to where and why, "Mr. Anthony Evans?"

"My pleasure," The man said. He had a native Britain accent, completed with the formality. His voice was hard but without an edge, and cold but without ice.

"I am Inspector Ian Chevalier," Ian introduced, "And I am the head of this department in the current case we are working on."

"I see."

"I do not know why you were recruited when we clearly don't need more people on this case than we already have," Ian continued, "But since you are here, and I do not know your capacity or what you are the best at, I want you as my assistant."

"Assistant?"

"Are you deaf?"

"No," The man seemed unfazed by the brutality of his words, "I was asking for clarification."

Ian smiled inwardly. This man definitely was more than what he was on the outside, "I trust that you've heard about our case beforehand?"

"Investigation on Werner Academy," Anthony nodded.

"Give it a week," Ian said, "Then we'll go down there and investigate, talk with the students and teachers. They haven't shown a single tail yet and if we create some mild havoc, they will."

Anthony remained indifferent, "I see."

"And for now," Ian turned toward the police who had introduced Anthony in, "What's your name?"

"Ryn, sir."

"Ryn," Ian nodded, "Show him around the office. I don't want to see anyone for the rest of the day."

"Yes, sir."

As Anthony turned away, without Ian noticing, the man's lips twitched just slightly upward on his impassive face in amusement.

* * *

One of you (Ava Simbelmyne) asked me are a lot of angst to be expected. Honestly, I don't know. But judging by my character...Yes, why not? Everyone love angst here and there~ Well, I will keep it a little less cheesy and all that and make all information/facts and events more realistic (people can die from bullet wounds O.O).

Since the story is taking place in the UK (I don't know where exactly), and the cars in the UK are all drivers on the right, so I'll be depicting that as well (I live in US, so it might occasionally slip my mind about the differences between the UK and US O.O)

Yeah, I have wasted enough time and taken up enough wordcount. :thumbsup:

Cheerios~


	3. What Do I See?

A.N.: Summer. Vacation. Is. Amazing.

Anyway, due to my severe off-plot disease, I am now writing out the plot for every chapter before I write the chapter out so I don't waste needless words on things that don't really matter. Though I guess a little bit of filler chapter is nice every now and then.

With that out, onward~

* * *

Nostalgia hit Alex forty minutes into his first class. This was a school they were talking about. School. It reminded him of Brooklyn High, even though the classmates were different and some varied greatly in age. This was no more than a school in front, filled with students around his age, give or take a decade, most listening with their undivided attention, while others—reminded him of Tom-didn't.

His first class was math. Calculus. In his one short year of high school back in Brooklyn, he would be surprised if he could even get any of the questions correct.

"Mr. Winchester," The teacher said and Alex started, turning his attention to the teacher, "If we change the distance between A and B to twenty meters instead of ten, what will be the relative distance over speed from A to C?"

"I'm sorry," Alex replied honestly, "I wasn't listening."

The teacher, Mr. Fern, cleared his throat, clearly displeased but didn't voice his opinion out loud, "Well, this is only the first day but I would be expecting more from you in the future. If you need aid, please do ask."

"Yes sir," Alex replied.

"Mr. Remington," Mr. Fern turned toward Wolf, "Why don't you answer the question?"

"Uh," Wolf shifted in his seat, "Twelve point two five?"

"Good guess," The teacher replied humourlessly as he wrote something down on the chalk board—Alex knew it was chalk because of the solid thud it made with the boards-, "Wrong. While your brother might have the excuse of being blind, you don't."

"Yes sir," Wolf muttered.

Then the teacher continued as if nothing happened and the class resumed. Alex heard the scratching of pencils and pens on paper and knew that they were taking notes on whatever the teacher was writing on the board. The principal had told the teacher of his special needs, therefore Alex knew that the teacher would explain whatever he wrote down afterward for his sake.

He heard Wolf paused in writing and a moment later, the man nudged him, "How're you going to take notes?"

Alex gave the man his most precise glare, "I record."

Mrs. Jones had considered the point before the mission and Smithers, in turn, gave him a recorder. It was situated right by the door. He had placed it door when he entered the classroom.

"Oh," Wolf didn't have a rejoinder for that, "I see."

The bell rang exactly five minutes later and the students rose, slowly packing away their belongings for the next class. Wolf turned to Alex, "I feel like I'm re-entering high school."

Alex quirked, "Mr. Twelve-point-two-five, how was your high school experience?"

"Shut up, Feigh," Wolf grunted as he shouldered his bag, "C'mon, next class. History, I think."

"Great," Alex said then paused as he stepped out of the classroom, "Dean, you don't have to be behind me. I can navigate perfectly fine without you. I prefer if you walk beside me. I am paranoid, you see, when you're behind me."

Wolf grunted and swung his bag over his shoulder, hitting Alex lightly over the head and didn't bother apologizing, "You're welcome."

Alex smiled brightly, "Thank you."

Maybe, just maybe, he could enjoy school life while it lasted, even if it wasn't with Tom. Try and enjoy a normal life while he could. Then whatever the mission turned out, he wouldn't exactly be disappointed.

"Haul your-bloody-self faster," Wolf said unkindly from ahead.

"Right away."

* * *

For the first time in his life, maybe not the first time on second thoughts, Alex was perturbed by the onslaught of the lunch rush. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people rushing down the small hallways, trying to reach the cafeteria first. The first come first serve rule seemed to be creating a large negative havoc at the moment.

"Aren't you going to get lunch, Mr. Winchester?" The teacher asked kindly. Mrs. Heatherson was a nice woman in her mid-forties. She had been teaching English in this school for fifteen years and Alex had the suspicion that she knew exactly what went on behind the façade of the school.

"Call me Feighton, please," Alex smiled, "I think I'll wait for the…people to run themselves over first."

She laughed. It was a clear warm sound that echoed softly in the large empty classroom. It was just the two of them, with the exception of the crowds of people rushing by the clear window, "Doesn't the 'first come first serve' procedure make you want to rush a little?"

"I'll settle for whatever," Alex shook his head.

"Well," Mrs. Heatherson said as she snapped something shut, probably her computer, "Why don't you go with Mr. Coleman when you're ready?"

"Mr. Coleman?" A teacher?

Alex started as he heard rustling at the opposite corner of the room. He hadn't noticed it before, "Hi."

"That's Robert Coleman, he's about your age," Mrs. Heatherson, "Robert, this is Mr. Winchester."

"Feighton Winchester," Alex said, his alias rolling smoothly off his tongue, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, hi," The rather lack of formality or greeting put him off but Alex regained his composure immediately.

"I think your lunch-rush moment is over," Mrs. Heatherson said, "Robert, why don't you go with Feighton and grab something to eat?"

"Okay," Robert said and Alex heard the sound of a chair scraping back.

Alex stood as well and navigated his way slowly out of the classroom and waited before the door for Robert. The boy followed him and paused at the door, his next question directed at him, "I heard you're blind."

Alex's eye twitched at the bluntness, "Yes."

"You know," Robert said when they were a good ten meters away from the classroom, "You can say 'yeah' every now and then. This isn't a discipline school or something."

"Okay," Alex was rather taken aback.

Mrs. Heatherson waved at them before they disappeared over the edge. Almost immediately, Robert sighed appreciatingly.

Exhaled loudly, Robert explained, "I'm sorry if I sounded impolite back there. Mrs. Heatherson's nice, but she's kinda strict with what we talk about. I mean, I like to watch TV shows but then she said that we shouldn't spend too much time on those. She doesn't have any fandoms at all. How about you? What do you like? Any TV shows?"

"Well," Alex slowly drawled out, "I used to watch cartoons."

"Me too!" Robert exclaimed, "I used to watch SpongeBob every single day, but a few years ago I started to get into anime. You know what the major difference between anime and cartoon is?"

"No…"

"Well, I don't really get mad over how people call it," Robert said and Alex felt him shrug slightly, "But anime's more like Japan and cartoon is American and all that western thing. But anime has better art and all that. Do you watch anime?"

"No."

"Man, you're missing out," Robert said, slapping him on the back, "Maybe I will show you some…oh, never mind."

"Why never mind?" Alex asked even though he knew the answer.

"I mean, you're…well…sightless…blind," Robert sounded extremely awkward and Alex had to appreciate how much effort Robert put in in an attempt to soften the bluntness this time.

Alex rolled his sightless eyes, "You don't have to be that cautious. I'm not being protective of my blindness."

"That's cool," Robert said almost immediately, "Last time I told someone that I couldn't show them my favorite TV show because they were blind, they slapped me in the face."

Alex raised his eyebrow, "That's harsh."

If Wolf commented on his blindness one more time, Alex thought he might consider doing exactly that.

"Yeah, I know right," Robert agreed wholeheartedly, "Oh, we're here."

"Hey, um,"

"Robert," He replied.

"Yeah, Robert," Alex nodded, "Can you see if you can find my…uh, friend?"

Alex felt and heard the sudden drop of spirit in the boy's tone, "Your friend? Oh."

"Actually," Alex quickly added, "He's my brother. This is his first day too, I just don't want him to be lost or sitting alone."

He swore that he heard the smile in Robert's voice when he replied, "Oh yeah, sure. What does he look like?"

It was as if Robert was afraid of…friends or losing friends. Alex didn't know, but he supposed that it was somewhere on that train of thoughts.

"Mean, grumpy, grim, short hair, weird looking," Alex counted off, "Pissed probably, ha—"

"Where have you been?" Wolf's sudden growl beside him made him jump, hitting Wolf squarely in what he presumed was his jaw as he reacted instinctively.

Wolf stumbled back by the blow and grunted out, "What the hell?"

"Sorry, you took me by surprise," Alex said though they both knew that there wasn't a single trace of sincerity in the apology.

"Wow, he's tough looking," Robert commented from the side.

"Who's he?" Wolf asked Alex, recovering from the unfriendly blow.

"My friend," Alex said, a little surprised at how defensive he sounded.

"Friend or no, lunch's ending in ten minutes," Wolf said, setting a rather reluctant hand on Alex's shoulder, steering him toward the table that he couldn't see, "Next time you're late, don't expect me to wait."

"You're a poet and you don't even know it," Robert added.

Wolf growled, "You shut up."

Robert fell silent and Alex patted him slightly, feeling satisfied when his left hand actually landed on Robert's right shoulder, "Don't worry, he's just jealous."

Robert laughed nervously then whispered excitingly by his ear, "But he's so buff, dude!"

"Are you trying to hit on him?" Alex asked sarcastically, trying to keep his tone incredulous without amusement rolling off.

"What? No! Jeez!" Robert drawled back in shock and undisguised laughter.

Robert directed him to a chair and Alex sat down, his finger tapping and feeling the table, making sure that he doesn't accidentally stab himself with any sharp edges. It had a smooth surface and small rounded edges. Wolf pushed something before him and Alex was hit by the aroma. It was warm, no longer hot or fresh out of the kitchen, but it was still food.

"Dude, were you like the first ten to get to the cafeteria?" Robert asked in near awe, "That food is like holy good. You can't even get it unless you're the first few."

"I was the second actually," Wolf corrected them, "Some guy got before me. Then a stream of people just rushed out."

Alex was willing to get ten quid that Wolf was running to get to the cafeteria. How unsightly of a soldier. Alex reached tentatively for a fork around the plate. He turned as Robert passed it to him, "Here."

"Thanks."

"You should just let him do it on his own," Wolf said.

"Just helping out," Robert sounded taken aback, "Anyway, my name is Robert, what's yours?"

Wolf paused, "Dean. Dean Remington."

"Remington?" Robert said, "But Feighton said you're his brother. You two don't have the same last name."

"We're half-brothers," Wolf said.

"That's cool," Robert said as Alex pressed the fork into the food.

It was spaghetti. Warm. Squishy. Alex grimaced as he poked his food. It wasn't that he didn't like spaghetti, maybe it was but that wasn't the point, he just didn't want to eat in front of Robert while he was blind. Just this morning before Wolf drove them to school, he stabbed his chin with a fork while he was eating. While he was _trying_ to eat.

"Robert?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want it?" Alex offered.

"Dude, you serious?" Robert was eager as he turned to the plate Alex had before him.

"Yes," Alex said as he pushed the plate along with the fork to him, "I don't want it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Um, Half-brother dude, can I have it?"

Alex kept his face neutral at the title Robert gave Wolf, "Don't give me that disgusting name."

"So I can have it?"

"Go ahead," Wolf said and waited until Robert took his third bite before he added, "But you're eating my money so I expect you to pay back."

Robert choked and Alex slapped him on the back unsympathetically, "Don't worry, Dean's just sad that his little brother didn't get to eat the food he bought."

"Shut up," Wolf growled.

"How was your class?" Alex asked as he leaned back against the smooth plastic chair.

"Just great," Wolf said sardonically, "Someone kept poking me from behind. Kind of reminded me of Eagle."

Alex grinned, "You're missing him, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," Wolf defended viciously.

"Eagle?" Robert paused, "The animal eagle?"

"No, the human Eagle" Alex said, "He's Dean's friend."

"Your friend's name is Eagle?" Robert asked, "That's cool."

"Kid, is there something that's not cool for you?" Wolf growled.

Robert stopped and there was silence as if he was really thinking about it, "No, not really. Well, maybe that one time when the author killed off my favorite character."

Alex swore that he felt Wolf giving Robert his infamous half-stare half-glare. Robert scrapped his fork against the plate and Alex twitched, grimacing slightly. Robert paused, having to catch his look, "What's wrong?"

"That sound," Alex explained reluctantly, "It's kind of…" He failed to find the right word.

It was the feeling when someone scratches their nails against a wall. Alex twitched.

"Sorry," Robert said after a moment as he set his fork down, "So do you wanna walk around? I can show you around the campus and all that."

"I'll pass," Wolf said at the same time that Alex replied, "Yeah, sure."

Wolf glared at him, "I don't think it's wise for y—"

"C'mon then, Feigh, I can call you Feigh right?" Robert said.

"Sure."

"Let's go," Robert said as he dragged him away.

"Hey!" Wolf said, "Fei-"

By then they were already halfway out of the cafeteria. Even though Alex couldn't see, he could _feel_ the blue sky. It was warm, comfortingly warm and not scorching hot or shivering cold. The side exit of the cafeteria led straight to a large grass field, the left side was for games and the other for everything else. Robert led him to the right, passing the heated football match between the two eager teams, their yells echoing even when they were pretty far away.

"I've never told anyone about this place," Robert said as he guided Alex into a tall grass land.

He felt the soft grass tickling and trailing across his hands as they walked pass. They were chest deep in it a few steps later and Alex brushed the grass away so that the taller of the grass would stop brushing against his neck.

"I kinda like it here," Robert said as he gestured for Alex to sit, "Others can't really see what's going on in here unless they're right above us, so it's really nice."

Alex brushed away the grass to sit down, feeling the gravel and rock filled ground beneath him, "So…?" He didn't know what to say. He wasn't a public speaker, nor did he ever want to be one.

"We can-"

Suddenly, the sound of grass being brushed apart rudely and loudly reached his ears. He tensed in alarm.

"What do we have here?" A loud voice said from right behind Robert, "Little Robert. Oh, and a new friend too."

"You know him?" Alex asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Yes…but…" Robert said but the newcomer cut him off.

"Of course he does. Now, what's your name, kid?"

The newcomer, newcomers Alex correct himself as he heard someone else joined the first, was clearly older than them. Two upperclassmen. Great.

"John Smith," Alex smiled and flashed them his most sardonic smile, "Please to meet you."

"You don't really want to say that," Robert said in a low tone, "They're…"

"Oh, John Smith," The first said, "That's a nice name, isn't it? Nice and simple, just like a freaking placeholder name."

"Definitely," Alex nodded.

"Well, _John_ ," The first said, "My name is August and this is Edward. I'm telling you, making friend with Robert here is the worst mistake you will ever make." Apparently, August wasn't going to be irate by simply the John Smith name.

"Why not?"

"His nerd-ness will rub off on you," August said, his tone straight as if lecturing kindergarteners, "Do you see his outfit? The way he dresses? It was as if he was a street beggar."

"I'm sorry," Alex shook his head and pointed at his eyes, "I'm a little blind here so I can't make judgments like you are doing."

"Oh, so you're blind," August said then laughed as if there was something funny, "That's great. Well, anyway, hey Robert, wanna play with us? We're having a great game of football. You can join and be the goalie."

"I…I…" Robert stuttered.

"Or are you afraid?" August asked, "Don't you want to give your friend here a good impression?"

"You're just jealous that you don't have his so-called nerd power," Alex said sarcastically as he rose slowly, making absolutely sure of his surroundings.

"Then would you like to play with us?"

"Are you saying that you want to be my friend?" Alex asked.

"If you want it that way, yes," August said as he shifted, his shoes grinding the hard rocks against the solid ground.

"Oh, please to meet you, my name is John Smith," Alex smiled as he lowered his gaze and reached into his pocket.

August asked, "What is it?"

"It's a diamond," Alex said, pinching his thumb and index finger shut tightly, "A really small one."

August walked closer to take a look and at that moment, Alex curled his fist and swung upward, hoping to catch him clear in the jaw. He underestimated August. August stepped back before he could hit him, easily dodging his attack and threw a punch toward his face. Alex jerked back as the fist connected with his jaw.

Alex grunted as the man twisted his arms behind his back, taking advantage as he tried to recover, "Tricky, but not enough."

Alex lifted his leg to kick back but someone, Edward, stepped on his feet, rendering his feet unavailable. Alex gritted his teeth and tried to jab August with his elbow but it only strengthened August's grip on his wrists, pulling them closer so that his shoulder screamed in protest.

"Hey, stop!" Robert exclaimed, "Stop! You're hurting him!"

August lessened his hold by a fraction but it was still tight and he couldn't move without having one of his shoulders nearly jerk out of its frame, "Just trying to make friends, that's all. So what's your name, _Feighton_?"

He already knew. Alex swallowed. So why?

"Crowley, Crowley Moore," Alex said calmly.

"What's your name?" His shoulder was screaming and Alex hissed unconsciously then immediately clamped his mouth shut. No weakness.

"You already knew, so why're you asking him?" Robert said, lunging forward to pull Edward off him, "Stop this!"

He heard Robert cried out, being pushed back by Edward brutally.

Taking the chance, Alex lowered his head and raised it sharply, hitting August, caught off-guard by Robert's action, squarely in the face. His head throbbed but when he heard August swearing loudly as he stumbled back, he felt immense satisfaction. It was worth it.

"C'mon, Robert," Alex said as he turned to where he thought Robert was.

Robert clambered to his feet and grabbed him by his arm. And they ran as fast as they could.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester," The teacher's voice was stern when Alex pulled open the classroom door gingerly as if it would explode, "You're five minutes late to class."

"Sorry," Alex said, feeling the attention of the whole class on him.

"Your seat is the one right next to Mr. Remington," The teacher said then paused, "Mr. Remington, please guide him."

Alex instantly disliked the teacher for putting his blindness, innuendo or not, out there bluntly.

Wolf tapped his shoulder softly and Alex nodded, taking a deep breath and smoothing out his features. Unlike the previous few classrooms, this one had rows of seats on different elevations, the closer to the front the lower. His seat was one right next to the window on the fourth stair. The window was open and he was tempted to lean his head out just to feel the breezy cool wind.

"Feigh," Wolf hissed to get his attention.

Alex turned to him.

"Your wrists," Wolf said under the teacher's voice so that he would not be heard, "They're bruised."

"I ran into a doorknob," Alex replied nonchalantly.

He didn't need to see to feel Wolf's skeptical glare, "And I'm guessing you're rubbing your shoulder because you had a run-in with a wall."

"Precisely," Alex said.

"Feigh, if you don't-"

"Mr. Remington, Mr. Winchester, get out of my class. Now."

* * *

I don't know the exact differences between UK and US schools so I'm basing this on my very poor knowledge of UK schools. I will try to keep everything right but if there're any mistakes, please do point them out ^ ^

~Until next time~


	4. Nothing

Yassen crossed his legs as he sat down on the sofa in the police lounge, on his side table a cup of coffee. His gaze fixed solely on the news broadcasted on the TV in front of him, hanging on the wall by the metal piece. Though, however, his mind was anywhere but.

Ian was alive. He wasn't surprised or shocked, he was merely confused. Yassen knew that the man was dead, a shot to his heart and neck-as if that couldn't kill a man-. Of course, Alex survived a shot to the heart, but Yassen had _watched_ the man die. He shouldn't be alive. He _couldn't_ be alive. But here the man was, regarding him with an impassive face that reminded Yassen of his former mentor, John. But John smiled more, Yassen thought absently.

"Mr. Evans?" Silver walked into the room with Yassen's alias rolling smoothly out, "I'm Silver Barsad. Please to meet you."

Yassen turned to regard his assistant, "My pleasure."

"I see you're watching the news," Silver said as he took a seat next to him but not too near, "How do you feel about our office so far?" _What do you think about Ian?_

"Brought back memories of a station I worked in before," Yassen replied. _I knew him._

Silver raised an eyebrow, "Is that good?"

"It was burned down," Yassen remarked. _He was dead._

If possible, Silver's eyebrow rose higher, "I take it that it's bad."

Yassen gave it his best attempt to chuckle, "I was just wondering if the same engineer designed this station." _How is he alive?_

"Maybe," Silver laughed. _I don't know. Why are you asking me?_

Yassen smoothed his suit carefully down, taking extra care to remove the crease on the area around his wrists, "What should I do until the trip to the school?"

"If you want," Silver took the hint to change the topic, "I can show you around the area. You're new to the area, aren't you?" _I have something to tell you. Let's go somewhere private._

Yassen inclined his head, "Yes."

An officer passing by the lounge barked a laughter, "Silver, don't slack off to go to the food court again."

"Oh shut up, James," Silver said in mock irritation, "Go mind your own business. C'mon, Evans."

"Anthony is fine," Yassen said as he stood up.

"You can call me Silver then," Silver smiled sarcastically.

Once exiting the station and making sure that no one was following them, with their gaze or physically, he nudged Silver to lead. He wasn't going to let his guard down until they were fully out of eyeshot and earshot.

Silver was clearly familiar with the area as he navigated skillfully toward the central square, located just less than a mile from the station, "So Anthony, got a girlfriend?"

Yassen shot him a withering glance, his eyes narrowing, "No."

Silver patted him hard on the back and Yassen refused the urge to smack and throw the man to the ground, "Ah, youngsters these days. Get yourself a girlfriend, Anth. Worth it."

"It's Anthony."

"Anth's nicer."

Yassen really did wonder at the moment why Silver wasn't dead yet. He was probably getting sentimental. He shook his head in exasperation. Assassinations weren't hard. It was a job. And every job was either a fail or a success, there was no between. Either the target died or … the target died. He wouldn't allow a failure. But, in the short span of time with Silver, he touched a case only occasionally. Most of the time, Yassen found himself working as a detective. An inspector. He didn't know if that was an improvement or degrade.

Once they were completely out of earshot and eyeshot of the station, Silver pushed away his façade and turned to Yassen, "Good news or bad news?"

"Good," Yassen said.

Silver chuckled, "Good news, Ian doesn't seem to know you, even if you do know him."

"And bad?" Yassen asked. If that news was something Silver called 'good news', bad news was probably something similar.

"Bad news? Alex's here too."

Yassen turned to Silver, "Why?"

"MI6," Silver shrugged, "A mission, I suppose. And second bad news, he's blind."

Yassen, at this, raised an eyebrow skeptically, unable to hide his wonder, "Blind?"

"Explosion didn't work out," Silver said, "Temporary, I heard. But good news, there's a big bloke with him."

"He can handle himself," Yassen said calmly.

"Yeah?" Silver hummed quietly to himself, "I'll keep an eye out for him then."

* * *

Alex threw himself onto the bed with perfect accuracy after making sure the location of it with his hands. He sighed in happiness as he sank into soft mattress. The academy was one for richer individuals and their fee was being paid by Wolf's 'uncle' who, Alex knew, was MI6 behind the façade.

"Not bad today," Wolf commented sardonically, his tone flared in irritation at the memory of them standing outside of class for an hour straight and the _minor_ consequence of being late to class.

"Quite," Alex replied sarcastically, "Wake me later."

"Dinner?" Wolf asked. He was acting more and more like his alias big brother Dean and Alex had to smother a laugh. Big brother and caring didn't go together with Wolf.

"In a minute," Alex groaned, "You don't know how much effort a blind person has to put in to live."

Wolf fell silent and Alex waited for the response hanging in the air. When he spoke again, his tone cried awkwardness, "If you need help, I, uh, can offer."

"Oh please," Alex rolled his eyes, "You stop me two seconds before I crash into a wall. My reaction speed are slower when I'm blind."

The awkwardness cleared almost immediately. Sentiments and Wolf didn't belong in the same sentence either.

"Well," Wolf said, shifting as he moved across the room to where he presumed was the bathroom, "Crash into walls all you like. I'll get changed and when I get out, you better be ready to go out."

"Where?" Alex asked.

"Eat out," Wolf grunted, "Where else?"

"All right," Alex said, rolling over but not getting up, "Whatever."

It strained him physically and mentally just to stay on his feet the whole day and not crash into anything. Physically for his every step was two times slower than his normal speed and mentally because neither Wolf nor Robert was helpful in their advice as to where to go and where not to go.

Alex closed his eyes, not that it would make much of a difference. It was weird, and sometimes downright scary, to wake up and everything would be…nothing. Not even black. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time.

The sound of Wolf walking out of the bathroom made him open his eyes instinctively but he shut them immediately, giving a loud strangled yelp, "For fuck's sake, pull on your shirt before you walk out of the bathroom!"

Then Alex froze as his mind fully took in the words he uttered, "Oh shit."

"You can see me?" Wolf's voice was full of surprise though muffled slightly as he put on a shirt. There were several degrees of awkwardness and embarrassment in his tone as well.

"No—I mean, yes-no!" Alex gave up and threw his hands in the air.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Wolf asked, walking closer.

Alex shook his head as he sat up, "It was just for a moment. Like a short flash but I closed my eyes afterward."

"Why did you close it then?" Wolf's tone was full of his scowl.

"And look at your shirtless back?" Alex shot back, "No, I don't swing that way."

"Just a flash then?" Wolf said and Alex didn't know why but the man's tone fell.

"Yeah."

"The doctor did say if you rest well," Wolf said, "it might return."

"Yeah, I guess," Alex was skeptical.

In the past three months, he had been resting far more than a normal person should have, in fact he had been resting like a damn corpse, but his eyesight did not improve. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists.

"Let's head out," Wolf finally said, walking to the door

"Lemme put on the shoes," Alex said and swallowed. He hated the way he had been thinking about his blindness. It was like a drowning man trying to grasp onto anything to pull himself up. He should just altogether forget about it. It would return when it felt like it. When, not if. That was something he would hold onto at the moment.

As he neared the door, Wolf released his hold on it and headed out with a grunt. Alex felt his finger made contact with the smooth wooden door. It was comforting, to know that there was something out there tha- Alex shook his head in frustration. Stop, he told himself.

The academy had issued a set of keys for both of them, one to their dorm, a second to the large gym adjacent to the dormitory building. Alex pulled out his from the pocket and reached out for the lock on beneath the handlebar. He could feel Wolf's glance on him and gritted his teeth.

Beneath the handlebar. A keyhole. A place. Anywhere. A whole. His key hit the metal plate and trailed down, left, right, everywhere. He could feel it, but he couldn't find it. Alex stiffened and pulled the key away and felt for the keyhole with his fingers. It was right there but as he lifted his finger away, the key once again hit the metal place, solid and hard, and nearly jarring his thumb in the process.

"Feigh…" Wolf began but Alex ignored him.

Alex trailed his left index finger down the plate and stopped right on the keyhole. There, he told himself, there it is. He lowered his right hand and tried to locate his left with the key. It met empty air but he knew his left hand was near. Thud. Not there. His right hand shook at the failure. He curled his hand into a fist before he relaxed. Just a keyhole, nothing more.

And this time, he couldn't be gladder to feel the vicious swipe of the key across his left index finger in his frustrated attempt. He paused and felt the key along his index finger and finally pushing into the keyhole. It made a smooth mechanical sound as the key was fully inserted and Alex turned. The door locked and he pulled it out, dropping it into his pocket and stood there.

Fuck.

For the last three months, he had never had a lot of chances to lock or unlock a door. He spent a whole month in the hospital and two more at home. Mrs. Jones had made his door passcode-based. He had no trouble locating the keypad and the nine numbers. But keys were on a whole new level.

Alex raised his foot in anger, but paused before it made contact with the door. It wasn't the door's fault.

Spinning around, Alex turned to face Wolf, "Let's go."

"Feigh, it-"

"I don't want to hear it," Alex cut him off abruptly.

"All right," Wolf wasn't pushing it as he guided Alex to the parking lot where he had parked his car. Each step Wolf took was semi-loud as his shoes clicked across the smooth marble surface, giving Alex a clue to where he was and where he was heading. Alex followed.

The drive was silent as Wolf searched for a nearby restaurant, "I would settle for McDonalds." The ex-soldier remarked after a moment.

Alex hummed quietly in agreement. Wolf took the next turn and pulled into a different parking lot and stopped the engine. There was a moment of silence as Alex waited for Wolf to open the door before exiting himself. Wolf didn't and Alex knew that Wolf was looking at him.

"I'm not going to blow," Alex said warily.

"You looked like you were," Wolf commented.

"I don't give a damn about it," Alex said, gritting his teeth then upon realizing his action, eased down.

"You look like you do."

Alex laughed humorlessly, "Since when did you become a therapist?"

"If you-"

"I don't give a damn!" Alex snarled as he turned toward the door, his hand reaching out to pull the bar.

He missed and grabbed the empty air, his fingers scrapping against the small uneven surface of the side.

A tremor ran through his body as Alex slumped backward, his hand dropping onto his legs. He clenched his hands together tightly and gritted his teeth, "I don't give a damn…"

"Then," There was unrestraint anger in Wolf's voice, "If you don't _give_ a damn, don't _act_ like you do!"

"Why the fuck are _you_ getting angry?" Alex almost yelled, keeping his voice barely beneath the level.

"Because your fucked-up life is not something I want to listen to every fucking second!" Wolf really did explode, grabbing him forward by two fistful of his shirt. The man was heaving as he finished his short outburst, his fists curling and tightening against the fiber of his shirt.

"Go to hell," Alex said quietly.

Wolf pushed him back and Alex righted himself by putting a hand on the side of the car. The driver's door swung open abruptly and he felt Wolf leaving the car, slamming the door loudly behind him. Alex clenched his fists. Damn Wolf. Dammit. _Dammit_. Why?

Unable to hold back anymore, Alex lashed out on the car compartment before him. It didn't budge and when he drew his hand back, it hurt. The start of a bruise. He delivered a second punch and the car budged slightly. His hand jerked back in pain and he covered it with his other hand. It stung and he knew that he had hit the compartment too hard. But the anger and frustration was still there.

"Dammit," He swore loudly, "Dammit!"

Alex buried his face in his hands, feeling the first of the hot tears falling. Why was it affecting him so much? He hated it. He hated this. He hated MI6. He hated his life. He made a choking cry in the back of his throat and bent forward, pressing his forehead against his knees, his hand gripping his hair tightly, threatening to uproot them by the number.

"Dammit…" His cry went unnoticed in the small confined space of the car.

* * *

Wolf wasn't hungry but he took a seat nonetheless. No one asked him if he was here to eat or simply here to brood and vent off his anger. They probably wouldn't upon seeing his expressions. He glanced at his fists, curled and clenched before him on the table and he slowly relaxed, letting them drop into a half-curled palm up position. A moment later, they were curled and clenched again and he lowered his head.

Working on a mission with Coyote took more out of him than he had imagined. He had never thought of MI6 mission as easy of course, but this was _beyond_ hard. Coyote was having trouble with the mission, they both knew it, yet none of them wanted to voice it. Coyote was blind for fuck's sake.

And the worse part was that he knew it was partially his fault. If he had managed to save Coyote before the building exploded, none of this would have happened. But he knew he couldn't reverse time. There was no point in guilt. He just have to do everything in his power to right the situation the best he could. He had promised K-Unit after all.

Wolf looked up as the door opened again. It wasn't Coyote. His gaze traveled to the parking lot, lit brightly by the high lampposts. He could make out the headrests, but not Coyote's shadow. Wolf frowned as he stood up.

The next person that came in wasn't Coyote either.

He was out the door the next second, walking toward the car. The car gave a gentle beep as he unlocked the doors with his key. Wolf pulled open the door and started as his eyes made out Coyote's shape in the darkness.

Coyote was bent over in his seat, his hands in his air and his shoulders shaking madly as sobs racked through his body.

Oh fuck. Fuck it.

Wolf stood there, not knowing what to do. It reminded him of war, but different. Instead of the raw emotion of losing someone, Coyote was literally radiating frustration and anger. In the form of raw heart-breaking emotions.

"Dammit…" Coyote didn't seem to be aware of his presence.

Wolf sat down in the driver's seat and the car lurched beneath him and Coyote froze for a moment and Wolf thought he would look up but he curled into himself even further.

"Hey," Wolf said awkwardly.

Coyote didn't respond. Wolf grimaced. He realized that he was harsher than he had intended. With one last glance, Wolf started the engine. Coyote didn't look up but Wolf couldn't make out the shudders anymore through the tremors of the car.

Casting one more glance at Coyote, Wolf set his heart. He wasn't going to apologize. Coyote had to learn. The world wasn't Coyote-centric. And he didn't join MI6 for Coyote just so that Coyote could vent off on him. Wolf's grip tightened on the steering wheel and glanced at Coyote once more.

He just hoped that cops wouldn't be on them for not strapping in in the shot-gun seat.

The silence was nerve-shattering and there were so many times Wolf was tempted to say something. Anything. Hell, he would be satisfied if he could just turn on the bloody radio to any station. But whenever his eyes fell on Coyote's shivering form, he paused.

Wolf turned at the next intersection and pulled into the campus ground, circling around to the dormitory building parking lot. As he pulled the key out, the car beneath him shuddered to a stop. And so did Coyote. His ex-unit member straightened slowly and Wolf swallowed at how red the man's eyes were. Oh fuck.

"We're here," Wolf said and cleared his throat. The silence was getting to him.

Coyote got out of the car slowly and Wolf followed suit, locking the car behind them when both the doors were shut. Wolf began walking, his shoes making loud noises as it made contact with the sand and stone beneath him. He knew that Coyote was never going to ask him to help and this was the least he could do. He glanced back and turned back when he spotted Coyote only a few steps behind him.

He stopped before their door and unlocked it, remembering the pure frustration on Coyote's face as his ex-unit member failed attempts after attempts to lock the door. Wolf pushed the door open for Coyote but the man didn't budge.

"We're here," Wolf said.

Coyote's eyes were puffy and red when they found his, "Lock the door."

Wolf knew what the man was up to immediately and he swallowed, "Coy—Feigh, you don't ha—"

"Lock the door," It was more forceful this time.

Wolf paused for a moment before he relented and headed inside. His hands hovered over the lock and he turned it finally. The lock clicked into place. Wolf settled down in a chair facing the wall and buried his face in his hands as he heard Coyote's key began scratching against the door.

 _Bloody hell, Coyote._

There was a moment of silence and Wolf thought he had given up. Then a moment later, the key was inserted and the door opened as the lock pulled back to allow Coyote in.

Wolf cleared his throat, "A little slower than I thought."

"Next time," Coyote replied after a moment.

That wasn't the reply he wanted-he didn't know what he wanted to hear anyways-but he knew that the comment he made was the right thing to say.


	5. Power and Fortune

A.N.: Ahohoho, nope, I'm not dead... Not really, anyway. I barely have time since school started to write (I'm actually working majorly on my original story instead of fanfics lately). I have sports after school and online classes at night, so it's a little hard to find time and all that.

Sorry, that wasn't much of a good excuse lol. I do work on the fanfics a little every day, but just never seen to be able to finish a chapter in a week. I'll try to be faster in the future, but please forgive me if my updates interval is getting longer and longer.

With that set, this chapter was actually written in three separate time section. The first was a lot earlier, so the writer is kind of bad (too lazy to fix it xD), the middle and the last are fairly recently so I had more time furnishing them.

I hope you like this chapter~

And thanks to those who didn't give up on me xD

* * *

Alex wasn't prepared for how realistic school was. Noises. Fake bells. Broadcasts. Students. Homework. Everything was too _normal_ to be normal if that made any sense at all. It was his fourth day at school and every hostile and suspicious thought he had toward the school was put on hold as the clubs began to work.

It wasn't this chaotic back in Brooklyn.

Wolf grabbed Alex by the shoulder, pulling him out of the way as someone blunder passed them, nearly whacking him in the head with a large object, "Be careful."

"It's like an anime!" Robert said, his excitement evident across his features as he side-stepped the blundering student as well, "Club grabbing people and all that! If they don't have enough members, they will be disbanded."

"Is anime everything to you?" Alex couldn't resist but ask.

"It's a segment of everything."

They were out in the large courtyard of the academy, standing aside and observing, or listening in Alex's case, the havoc caused by the lines and rows of clubs lining outside trying to get more people. Alex felt sympathized toward those who were dragged away unwillingly to join the clubs.

"Hey, you there!" One of the students, a little older than Wolf by the voice, yelled from before them and Alex judged that they were about ten meters or so apart.

Alex raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment.

"The slightly taller one," The student said, solving their confusion.

Alex grinned and probed Wolf forward, "He's calling you, Dean. Go for it!"

"I don't want to join any club," Wolf growled at the student while glowering at Alex out of his peripheral vision unbeknownst to the young spy, "But I suppose Feigh here would _love_ to join your club."

Then it was Alex's turn to glare. How childish. Alex never expected to see this side of Wolf, or of any soldier in fact, "Well, I'm not a club person."

The man clearly didn't come to find Alex. Sparing one last glance at Wolf, he cleared his throat, "Too bad, isn't it?"

Alex hid a sly smile behind a cough, "Yeah, too bad."

"Hey, wanna try out that club?" Robert asked, tapping Alex on the shoulder, "I think it's archery. It would be so cool to shoot arrows, Feigh!"

Alex turned toward the boy with exasperation, "I'm blind."

"You can train your sense of direction," A sudden voice behind them made him jump.

Instinctively, Alex whirled around, his eyes narrowing and his fists tensing by his side imperceptibly, "Who are you?"

"Head of the archery club," The man smiled and grabbed his hand in a handshake, "Troy Fortuna. Twenty-eight years old. Favorite color orange. Favorite sports archery. Favorite music country. With that set, you must be Feighton Winchester."

"How?" Alex asked as he removed his hand as politely as possible from the man's firm grip.

"News travels fast about new students," The man said as he pulled his hands away as well when the moment had passed, "We don't have a lot of them here, especially at the start of a new term."

"Why not?"

"This place is secluded," Troy explained, "People don't just find their ways here. We take life-time schools here. Not a lot of people quit and go to college and therefore the school is never on the top elite school list. And that means not a lot of students join us. They usually find their way here unintentionally by hearing it from others."

"I see," Alex said ironically.

"My brother is blind as well," Troy said and Alex glanced up to meet the man's eyes that he knew were gazing at him, "But he learned to adapt with his other senses. I can teach you how to."

"What a caring brother," Alex couldn't help but comment sarcastically.

"Quite," The man ignored his tone, "So will you think about my offer?"

"What is it for you?" Alex questioned. Humans are constantly maximizing their profit instead of thinking about others'. He didn't believe that Troy was a 'good', 'selfless' and 'kind-hearted' man.

Troy smiled, "Do you know why clubs are so desperate for new members? The guy earlier who wanted to recruit your brother-like I said, I know a lot-didn't reach out to you because you don't have the traits he was looking for. The clubs aren't just scared of disbanding, they're competing against each other."

Alex raised an eyebrow skeptically, "Competition is common."

"It's far more than petty competitions," Troy said and Alex heard the rustle of clothes as he shook his head, "The clubs are competing for a larger thing. A position, rather. This school is ninety-percent run by the student council and each year they host a competition between clubs to choose the next student council body."

"The year before was ran by this cartoon club," Robert said, "And the whole school was so fun!"

"The business club runs it this year," Troy added, "Everything's a bit formal and tidy-up."

"Multi-cultural," Alex muttered.

"Quite," The head of the archery club agreed, "However, I think the school should be fiercer instead of being filled with posh-ness. That's why I want you to be part of the archery club."

"I can't shoot," Alex said. _Not with a bow anyway._

"But you are small, you have the stealth and accuracy," Troy brushed aside his comment.

"And how do you know?" Alex questioned, unable to hide the skepticism in his voice.

"You're blind," Troy said, shifting slightly and causing the sand beneath his shoes being ground loudly, "Yet you walk as if you're not. You are keen to everything around you, in fact, you're trying very hard to take note of everything. That's very important to archery, at least the style I teach."

"Being keen to everything around me is a trait that every blind person should have," Alex remarked dryly, "It's not that unusual. Do you reach out to every blind person?"

"Of course not," Troy's tone was almost condescendingly withering, "Most of them I see, not a lot I should remind you, relies on something instead of their senses. But yes, I do reach out to most who grabs my attention, like you."

"I'll think about it," Alex said, drawing it out slowly.

It would be a considerately, hopefully, easier route to learn more about the academy. Troy, clearly, had been in this school for quite a while. He knew more things that they do obviously and Alex wasn't going to let such precious information slide. So far, the academy was clean and everything one would expect. There was nothing suspicious like arming children that Mrs. Jones had mentioned. He would have to delve deeper.

"I look forward to your response," Troy said as he started again, brushing past Alex softly. And just like his arrival, his presence was gone in an instance. It unnerved Alex.

"Archery," Wolf muttered, "I'm up for it. I'm itching for some real exercises."

"You've gotta join, Alex," Robert said excitingly, "Imagine if the archery club wins the competition. The whole school would be so amazing, like swords, bows… _katana_."

It was that moment Alex knew Tom wasn't alone in this world. There was always someone else like him out there.

Namely Robert at the moment.

* * *

Wolf was a little frustrated.

What were they supposed to look for? It would have been much easier of a bomb was presented before them. He knew how to defuse it, it didn't require much secrecy and brain-power. He faltered at the thought and shuddered; if Eagle heard what he had just thought, he would never hear the end of it.

The ex-soldier stabbed the fork into the lettuce with annoyance. The lettuce split in the middle with the force and he twirled the fork absently, causing the rift to open even more. What was he doing here, pretending to be a school kid? It was too normal and it made him jumpy for his soldier sense was screaming at how normal everything was.

"Dean," Coyote snapped a finger before his face, "Earth to Dean."

That brought him back to the second major issue before him: Coyote. Coyote was twenty. Fucking twenty. Fresh out of school. Wolf would understand if he joined SAS but that just wasn't the damn case. He was already deep within the dirty worlds of soldiers and spies. It was messed up. And he had nearly died in the last mission, and who knew how many more before this. Unbeknownst to him, his knuckles were white as he clenched his fist tighter, the fork threatening to break within his tight grasp. He couldn't, not even if he wanted to, forget the moment of drowning despair as the building exploded beneath him as he hovered in safety.

"What?" Wolf growled at Coyote's unscheduled interruption of his thoughts.

Coyote was chewing thoughtfully, a large piece of cabbage leaf dangling out of his mouth rather childishly, flapping up and down as he tried to swallow. At the moment, Wolf was struck by how sixteen Coyote looked instead of the twenty he really was, "About the club, which one are you joining?"

"Why do I have to join?" Wolf frowned. He was glad that Robert wasn't there, being busy in the library, because beside the short amount of time in their dormitory, Wolf hadn't really had the chance to talk with Coyote about the mission.

"It might be useful," Coyote said as he finally swallowed the leaf and sipped gently from the glass of coke beside him satisfyingly, "To know more about the school that way." Wolf caught the conspicuously-hinted message.

Finally stop tormenting the lettuce, Wolf ate it, "We can always ask around instead of that."

"Dedication, Dean," Coyote shook his head with mock disappointment, "Only when you dedicate yourself to something will you find something truly rewarding in return."

"Oh so now you're philosophical?" Wolf snorted skeptically, watching Coyote unconsciously pushing his food around the plate with the tip of his fork, "If we ask when we need help, someone will bound to tell us something." _Someone will bound to slip something unaware._

Coyote hummed in disagreement, his brows furrowing as he seemingly glared at the pork on his plate. If they didn't know he was blind, the common conclusion drawn would be that Coyote held a deep grudge against the pork. Wolf, secretly, was glad to see Coyote getting used to the absence of sight finally. He seemed to be more at ease and Wolf swore that sometimes Coyote seemed to act as if he had been blind his whole entire life.

It was a pretty lucky excuse to not work on loads of work assigned by the professors.

"I'm thinking about joining the archery club," Coyote finally said after a moment, his fork carefully tapping onto the pork and sinking into the boneless meat.

Wolf didn't like the idea even though he knew that he would be the same if he was in Coyote's shoes. Coyote, like him, had the need to be active, to do something, _anything_ , instead of nothing. The thrill of battlefields, though with horror and bereavement, challenged them. There were times where Wolf would be reluctant to step onto the bloodshed field, but there were also times where he couldn't sit still. It was almost frightening to think that he was excited about going to fight.

"You don't have to follow my idea," Coyote frowned again, looking up to find the proximity of Wolf's eyes, with slight difficulty the ex-soldier noted.

"Brothers are supposed to help each other," Wolf commented dryly. _We're supposed to be a team._

"But we can have different ideas," _We don't have to work together._

This time, it was Wolf who hummed in disapproval. Then he remembered the missions and the time he spent with Coyote at the camp. Coyote was fast and had stealth. He was quick-minded and dealt with situations cautiously. Even though their teamwork, in the short time they had in the beginning, was sloppy and barely at the level, Coyote always excelled in individual tasks.

It was obvious.

Coyote worked better alone.

"Fine," Wolf slapped it down with reluctance, "But if you shoot yourself in the head, don't expect me to give a flying fuck."

Coyote's wide smirk made him narrow his eyes though the expression never went pass Coyote's blind eyes.

Damn Coyote.

But Wolf had a small smile of his own.

At least Coyote was alive.

* * *

The four sat at the rectangular table. The leader had his hands laced before him and his elbows on the table, setting his head on his hands, "So what do you think?"

Even though he wasn't the oldest of the five, his figure spoke of authority.

A man in his mid-thirties cleared his throat, "They seemed to be an excellent pair."

"They're brothers after all," A boy about eighteen replied cheerfully, his feet on the edge of the table and tipping himself back, rocking gently in the comfortable chair, "The older brother seem to have a soft spot for the younger one."

The leader tapped his fingers on the back of his hands rhythmically, "They wouldn't abandon each other, that's for sure."

"But the younger one is blind," The fourth member, a woman older than the leader, pointed out, "It would be a hassle."

"It might be," The leader nodded but they could see that he had already considered the objection beforehand, "But they rarely doubt disability people. It might prove to be our advantages. Besides, they're both fit and strong, even with the younger one's blindness."

"Let's wait and see a little," The boy suggested as he tipped his chair back to place, "I really have to go to the cafeteria now."

"Wait," The man in his forties said, holding up his hand to halt his retreat, "What about the police investigation?"

"Police investigation?" The woman asked, clearly wasn't informed.

"Some local police caught wind about this," The leader informed her, sitting straighter and crossing his arms. He was constantly restless, "Don't worry about it, they won't find anything. There are plenty who doesn't know and those who do know knew better than to say anything."

"If you say so," The man frowned, clearly put-off by how lightly the issue was passed, "But if we were found out…"

"We won't," The boy said, "Just trust us. You're safe. But do remind those who know the consequences of voicing their personal opinions."

"Of course."

"Who is this local police?" The leader asked, turning toward the man.

"An inspector by the name of Ian Cavalier," The man replied immediately, clearly prepared and completely informed than any of the other occupants in the conditioned room, "He has been on us for quite a while now. Someone must have leaked something or else he wouldn't personally come for an interview."

"Well, it'll be your job to find who the leak was," The leader offered, "And I want them dead. Any way you want."

"Of course."

"That's cruel to leave the job to him," The boy commented with a grimace, "I feel sorry for the leak."

"I thought you were going to the cafeteria?" The leader commented dryly.

"Oh right, of course!" The boy was out the door in a second.

One by one, the others left until the leader was the only one left in the cool room. He turned the air conditioner lower, feeling the temperature drastically dropped within a minute. He gently turned the ring on his middle finger, the words Power and Fortune were engraved on the front and back.

Standing up, he began to leaf through the documents before him. If he wanted give the inspector a warm welcome, he would have to start preparing.


	6. Ian Chevalier

A.N.: Wow. Whew. What a long break! I'm so sorry that I kept you guys waiting

* * *

Mrs. Heatherson, the math professor, stood tall and stern, with narrowed features, besides the lectern. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her face shown clear signs of disapproval for the two men that had taken over her class without proper etiquette and formality.

"We will begin from this class," The man was saying. He was the police apparently, "One by one. Don't worry, we have all the time we want. While we are interviewing the individuals, you may go back to lessons."

The second man, tall and pale but had a rather deadly aura, hadn't moved since he was instructed to stand next to the lectern. His piercing blue gaze roamed the room and though barely perceptible, pausing once on the boy by the window. Winchester, was it? Feighton Winchester, the new boy. Mrs. Heatherson wasn't trained to be perceptive or anything, but years of teaching and catching her pupils off-task gave her the talent.

"Now, let's start with the first one," The man said as he scanned his list, "Emery Armstrong, please follow me out the door."

The inspector turned toward his partner and jerked his head at the room, "Evans, stay here."

"May I see your badge again?" Mrs. Heatherson finally stepped up.

The inspector flashed it out without hesitation. Ian Chevalier, "I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion, but I've been given permission by the headmaster."

"Ms. Armstrong?" Inspector Chevalier called out as he pocketed his badge with a nod, "Gooday, Mrs. Heatherson."

* * *

"Feighton Winchester," When his name was called, Alex was barely paying attention.

He was hungry. And sometimes hunger tend to take over one's brain. Mrs. Heatherson's voice droned on and on and if it weren't for the short interruption, in the beginning, announcing an inspector's arrival, he would have spaced out for the whole sixty minutes of class. At least he heard five minutes.

"He's calling you," Someone next to him nudged him gently.

"What?" Alex jerked in inattention to the girl next to him.

"Feighton Winchester," Slight exasperation coloring the man's tone told him that he had been called several times already.

"Oh, yeah, thanks," Alex hurriedly stood up and pushed his chair in.

Police investigation. Someone else must have realized that something was wrong and was bold enough to do it. It would definitely tick the school off, but somehow, that might just be part of the inspector's plan. Alex frowned. But if things were this obvious, why didn't the government take action? Of course, it might scare the men behind the scene, but why didn't MI6 react earlier?

The tables and chairs were arranged in straight horizontal and vertical lines and with careful and precise footwork, he had no trouble navigating through them. In the short week, he had gotten used to the alignment and arrangements of pretty much everything he needed to know in the school. Maybe not down to the last dust, but he could manage as if he could see. The pang of bitterness was pushed down before it could surface.

Then he felt it, next to the door, a faintly familiar presence. It wasn't like a nagging feeling of something there, but more like a sensation that someone he knew was there. Wolf, for example, had a heavy presence. Sounds were blocked from his location and his footsteps were soft but curt. The man by the door had an air of quietness and caution. Similar, but he couldn't place a finger on it.

"I'm Inspector Chevalier," As soon as he stepped outside the door, a second man announced, "Please, come inside this room."

The man walked ahead much to Alex's relieve and Alex followed his footsteps. It was patterned and light. Like a horse's gait. Rhythmic and consistent. "Take a seat, Mr. Winchester."

The man himself took a seat and Alex made his way slowly to the table he knew was there. The chair must be opposite of the man logically so that they could converse easily. He felt satisfaction as his hand landed lightly on the metal edge of the chair on the first try. He pulled it out and sat down, his feet feeling for the edge and supports on the bottom of the chair.

"Feighton Winchester?" The man asked for confirmation.

"Yes," Alex nodded, his alias sounded almost like it was his own name at the moment. If this wasn't a police investigation like they said, he wasn't going to give his identity out. If this really was one, however, he couldn't either. Who knew how many different types of bugs, cameras, microphones, were situated around the school?

"How long've you been here?" Inspector Chevalier asked and Alex heard the man pulling out paper and a pen by the short click it made.

"Just this school year," Alex offered, "Moved here barely a month ago with my brother."

"Oh?" The inspector wrote something down, "A brother?"

"Dean Remington," The man probably wanted the name.

"Age?"

"Twenty-six," If he recalled correctly, but again, it wasn't uncommon to forget one's brother's birthday or age. People just, well, forgot.

"Any extracurricular activities? Afterschool activities?"

"No."

Another scribbled note.

"What do you usually do after school?"

"Homework," Alex said. _And some 'spy talk' with Wolf._

"Anything else?"

"We, my brother and I, walk around, get used to the new place," Alex shrugged. They were mapping all the possible fast exits in case they ran into trouble, but Alex supposed it counted as exploring and getting used to the place.

"Where are you from?"

Alex went back to his mental file, "Wales."

If the inspector wanted to dig deeper, he would undoubtedly find a file on him somewhere with MI6's secret tweaking on it. Perhaps a short mention of an airplane trip to China when he was six and if he dug even deeper, maybe even a short receipt of a bus ride to the Great Wall.

"Pretty long way from there," The man commented as he made another note that Alex couldn't see.

"Quite," Alex nodded.

"And where does your father work?"

"He's dead," Alex said nonchalantly. His new alias matched his real profile in several personal aspects and he didn't have to put too much effort to act his part.

"Mother?"

"Dead," He replied, his tone solid hard.

"I'm sorry," Another note.

"It's all right. Long history."

"Who do you live with?"

"My brother."

"You two must be close," The inspector made another comment.

"We're half-brothers actually," Alex nodded, "But we're rather…close, sure."

Another note. Just what was so interesting about _him_?

"Any other relatives?"

"No," Alex replied without hesitation. His parents were single children and his grandfather died about five years ago. Hours-worth of going over the files with Wolf had sort of paid off.

"All right, you can go now," The man stood up and opened the door for him.

Alex left.

Something in the back of his mind told him that there was more to this man than what met his senses.

* * *

"Coffee, sir?" One of the officers asked, pausing outside his office in mild concern at seeing his superior frowning and running his hand through his hair repeatedly.

"No, leave." Ian said curtly, "And close the door."

"Yessir."

Ian couldn't believe it. The boy was a replica of his brother John Rider. He had refused to have anything to do with his brother when the man decided to join the Intelligence department. He didn't want anything to do with spies. A policeman, fine, but he didn't want to tangle with dirty spy businesses. It had been sixteen years ago when he heard about his brother and his wife's death. He wanted even less to do with the whole spy business.

When they told him about John's son, Alex, he had refused to take custody of that boy. Too much trouble, even if it was his own blood separated by a sibling. He was devoted toward his work, he didn't have time to take care of an infant.

Yet here the boy was, all grown up into a tall handsome young man. Ian had no trouble with the young man not knowing who he was on sight immediately, but it troubled him to no end that the young man couldn't remember _his face_ even after such a long conversation. MI6 had tried to request him to look after the boy but he had blatantly refused. He heard later that they had replaced him with a willing volunteer. Some man by the name of James Marian. In exchange for not having any further involvement with MI6, he had to agree to give the man his name. To put it simply, James Marian was the 'real' Ian Rider to the rest of the world. Ian had to change his last name to Chevalier instead of keeping the family name Rider. The man had shockingly similar features to him and Ian suspected that it was some sort of mask. He was right.

Why MI6 wanted him to take care of the boy so badly, he didn't know.

But that wasn't important, what was troublingly important right now was why did Alex have no recognition of him? It wouldn't matter all that much but Ian had felt guilty for the past three years ever since 6 informed him that the man, James Marian, pretending to be him had died on a mission. He had planned to pay a visit to Alex before realizing that a dead man couldn't be alive and he would have to spend so much time explaining.

Ian did visit, however, almost three months ago, and he knew what was happening when he saw that sleek black car pulling up outside the house whose address had been given by 6 a long time ago in case he wanted to reconsider their offer. Alex had walked out of that car, looking damaged like his brother had so many times before.

And right now, seeing the boy here, he had faint suspicions that he was undercover for 6. And the investigations he was having had something very important to do with it.

"Evans!" Ian called.

The door opened a moment later, revealing the tall pale man, his blue gaze searched him rather beseechingly, "I need to have a talk with one of the boys in the school."

Evans blinked but otherwise he remained motionless, waiting for the rest of his statement. Truth be told, the new man Anthony Evans was an excellent candidate for a police officer. He was observant and noted down everything during the interview that Ian might have missed. From even the slightest movement of the body to possible induction about the student's living habits. "Get him down the station."

"Who?"

Ian was almost tempted to say Alex Rider but he stopped at the last moment. Until he could confirm that this really wasn't his nephew, he wasn't about to claim his relationship. But if the boy really was Alex… He would look after that boy on whatever mission it was. Ian rolled his chair over to his cabinet and stood up, pulling open the top drawer and reaching inside for the file. It was the first class he interviewed. His fingers slide down the paper and paused at the name, "Feighton Winchester."

"May I ask why?" Evans asked rather bluntly in contrary to his tone.

The man spoke rather condescending sometimes yet Ian found himself raising his brow in skepticism, "No you may not."

"But I will later," Ian pushed the drawer shut and walked over to the man, "I want him here as soon as school ends and be as inconspicuous as possible, Evans."

"Just him?" It was a muttered question spoken as if Ian should have known better.

"What?"

"Nothing," Evans shook his head and turned, glancing at the clock hanging on the side of the wall, "I will be back."

* * *

The heavy sinking of the sofa next to him signaled Wolf's arrival.

"How was your day?" Alex asked sarcastically as he stood up and shouldered his bag.

"Great," Wolf seemed to be equally enthusiastic.

Sarcasm and Wolf? Something was a little wrong here, "Something happened?"

"Did you see th-," Wolf paused and went back for another word, "Did you get interviewed by an inspector? Some Ian Chevalier?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded, confused, "Why?"

Alex could sense Wolf turning around as if watching for anyone suspicious before the man leaned down slightly to hiss, "And you didn't feel anything?"

"Besides being creeped out by you at the moment," Alex's lips twitched, "No."

"Don't you think he's-"

"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Remington," A third voice made them turn around, just barely out of the school front door, "I'm Evans. Anthony Evans. Please come with me."

The tone was smooth, perhaps a little gruff on the edge, with a perfect British accent. Perhaps a little too perfect that made Alex on edge. The voice was cold, chipped, and hard. It was familiar, but just like the man in the morning, he couldn't place a finger on it, "Who are you?"

"Anthon Evans," The man paused, "Assistant to Inspector Ian Chevalier of KSPD."

So he was the same man he met in the morning.

"Come with you to where?" Wolf asked bluntly.

"Police department," Mr. Evans said he turned, "Please follow me. Don't worry about your car, Mr. Remington, I will give you a ride to and from."

"C'mon," Alex muttered as he stepped to follow the man.

Wolf followed him and Alex could sense his uncertainty radiating in his every step. How, Alex didn't know, "It's just the police, Dean. We didn't do anything wrong."

"Maybe some neighbor reported us for throwing that trash over the fence," Wolf muttered.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Or maybe they reported me for digging that hole in their backyard."

"Very funny." But Wolf paused afterward. He _paused_ , "You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not," Alex said then really thought about it, "But I might have dug a hole through the wall in the backyard to let that spider out."

Wolf's irate growl pushed aside the growing wad of worry that was slowly settling in his stomach. What did the police department want with them? It might blow their cover.

And they wouldn't know it was blown until something bad happened.

Like being interrogated.

Or killed.

Alex grimaced. His pessimistic attitude always astounded him.


	7. Little Brother

A.N.: Been a reeeally long time since my last chapter. I'm sorry about that. Kinda just lost track. This chapter's fairly short, will try to balance the three stories but still have to add life to the equation so ehh yeah, updates _will_ be slow.

* * *

"Dean," Alex finally snapped rudely as Wolf got up _for the seventh time_ in the past hour to pace, his boots probably already made a reasonably sized trench on the wooden floor, "For heaven's sake, just sit down and do your zen thing."

"That man," Realizing his voice was a four notches higher than allowed, Wolf took a deep breath to compose himself, "That Anthony Evans, assistant to the inspector-"

"Was the same man that told you about my whereabouts and rescued me heroically from the plane," Alex finished it for the agitated soldier. Agitated seemed to be the wrong word. Volcanic was more like it. He could feel the heated tense energy vibrating in the room, threatening to bring the whole dorm down, "I know, you've said that already."

"He might have a wig," Wolf blundered on, his pacing growing erratic with pauses, "A lower voice, but I can recognize his face. And I know he recognized me as well."

Alex turned toward the ex-soldier with a weary sigh, wondering about the fuse of the bomb the man had on his head. Anytime now, "He saved me. That's all I care about right now. If he meant any harm, we'd be dead right now."

Wolf abruptly, finally thank _god_ , stopped pacing and turned to him, "Do you think he knew about us? Our mission?"

"Even if he did, they knew better than to question us," Alex said, "Let's just keep our heads down, alright?"

He felt the man's stare, "What?"

"Sometimes," Wolf sat down somewhere by the tables, "I do wonder if you know who's the eldest in the room."

"I do," Alex was confused, "And right now, that's you."

"Exactly," Using the tone of a typical ELI5 procedure, Wolf said, "Which is why I give the orders, and you follow."

Alex snorted.

"Something funny?"

He shook his head, the smile still lingered as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the pain and burden building up today slowly ebbing away into oblivion that was the world. Sometimes, he swore he could see florescent lights behind his eyelids. They were floating. Just floating, nothing more, in reassurance. Other times, he was at a park. A grass field. The grass shivered as the wind blew, but he felt nothing.

They were just dreams.

And he missed darkness.

"So you still planning to do the whole archery thing?" He could sense Wolf's hands moving in fuzzy gestures that formed no particular shapes.

Alex nodded, "Yeah," Then he grinned, "You should try out the choir. Perhaps your powerful voice can shatter glass with the right training."

Wolf didn't find that funny at all while Alex was unsuccessfully trying to hide his chuckles. The soldier had a large chip on his shoulder that forbids anyone to even consider _snickering_ at his expense, much less laughing, or talking behind his back: something that Eagle seemed to have taken up as his part-time job back at camp.

"If you get impaled…" Then the man rounded the circle again, dragging them to exactly where they had started earlier in the day.

"You're not going to care," Alex nodded as he paraphrased, cleaning up the foul language that Wolf had used in the presence of sixteen years old, "I know, don't worry. I've got funeral coverage. Insurance and whatnot. I'm completely covered."

"...Right," When they both fell into a semi-awkward silence, Wolf began to leaf through his assignments.

The pages fluttered and so did a pen as the man hastily scrawled-Alex was very sure the man was scrawling instead of actually writing in neat prints-his answers on a different piece of paper like a diligent student. Minus the diligent and the student part.

Alex plopped himself down on the spare chair after navigating from the bed and turned toward the table where he had placed his earbuds and playback device connected to the one in the classroom. There were times when he wished he was able to focus in class but, this time like any other times, he seemed to find the dragonfly outside the window more fascinating than the lecture.

"Finally studying?" Wolf snorted.

Alex shot him a glance as accurately as possible, "You doing any better?"

"John Locke," The man tossed it out.

"Blank slate," He had been to school, Alex would have Wolf know, "tabula rasa."

That shut the man up and not wanting to push the chip on the man's shoulder even further, Alex plugged his earbuds in and clicked play, letting his head dropped onto the table, his forehead against his folded arm and closed his eyes.

The lights remained.

"...Open your textbook to page 452. Today, we're going to cover…" The recorded voice smoothed over and the sound of textbook rustling was heard. Undoubtedly, Alex found himself drifting off. He fought it. He felt as if his elbows were slipping on the smooth wooden table, but he knew they were not. His eyes felt heavy, heavier than they already were, and his shoulder blades moved as he shifted, trying to rouse himself before he could fall asleep.

Before Wolf of all person.

"...many still believe that…"

Anthony Evans. Nobody's name was ever so, well, _plain_ , of anything. It felt like the addition of two names from an online name generator. Then he remembered the kid back in high school. What was his name? Bob Thomson. Maybe people were just simple and plain like that.

"...The Pythagorean theorem was..."

Wolf said he recognized the man as his savior. Perhaps Anthony Evans was an alias? Or perhaps they were both thinking too hard into it when the truth was right in front of them. The ex-soldier had said Evans was someone who he could 'hardly trust', shady for starters, and a rather cold-hearted bastard. But it seemed as if Evans was _protecting_ Alex, that he seemed to care about him.

"...Excuse the interruption. I'm Inspector Chevalier…"

"...John? No…" The man in the recording's sharp intake of breath rattled the recording, "Alex…"

He jerked up, his hand seizing the playback device like a madman. Wolf eyed the commotion, "Got stung by a fly?"

"Flies don't sting," Alex shot the man an ungrateful glance as he rewound the tape. Fifteen seconds.

"Excuse the interruption," That was the inspector, "I'm Inspector Chevalier. I'm here regarding an ongoing police investigation."

In the background, the student's chattering slowly died away until it was no more than hushed whispers with the 's' cutting straight across the room. The lack of visual reference in the recording did not hinder his mental image instead, with his blindness settling over in reassurance, he could imagine a better visual.

Alex could see from the vantage point of his recorder. The door, swung wide open, was to his left. The inspector paused, his eyes must have roamed the room for a moment and then Alex could feel the hesitation, surprise, and perhaps pure genuine shock, flicker in the span of two seconds.

"...John?" It was more than a hesitant statement, "No…Alex…"

"Something wrong?" That was Evans. His voice sounded faintly familiar but he still couldn't place a finger on it. Must have been when he was unconscious, maybe his brain registered his voice.

"Pass me the list of names," The inspector said. Ruffling of paper was heard then a clipboard was handed over. A page was turned. Then another. Then both pages settled back down in confusion. The man seemed not to have found what he was looking for.

But Alex had a very good idea what it was.

His name. Alex Rider.

The inspector knew. And he knew his father too. His father died shortly after he was born, for someone to even know about him and his father at such intimate level, no one came immediately to mind. Of course, there were Ian and Yassen, but in their post-mortal state, Alex had no doubt it wasn't them.

Then who? Who could have the knowledge of his father and him? Who was Inspector Chevalier? Chevalier. _Ian_ Chevalier. Coincidence, Alex told himself.

"Something bothering you?" Wolf's undisguised skepticism and amusement rudely pulled him out of his reverie, "You're doing that thing where your face turns a shade of purple."

Alex's eye twitched, "Dean, joke isn't your thing. Besides, me turning purple can only mean one thing. Heart disease. Heart attack. Something relating to the heart. And honestly, I am sure I'm perfectly healthy at the moment."

"Yeah?"

"Are you showing _concern_ for me?" Lifted tone, a pitch higher than normal that strained his vocal cords, and the faintest cooing face did the trick and Wolf grunted in what Alex would call defeat but 'not wasting time and energy with Eagle's clones' in Wolf's encyclopedia.

They settled back in the diligent student silence, Alex minding his own business and thinking Wolf was doing the same when the man abruptly stood and began pacing around the room. Alex paused the recording once again and arched an eyebrow, his unseeing eyes following Wolf's footsteps questioningly.

"Something you ate?"

"Be quiet for a moment, would you?"

Alex complied and he led Wolf to his pacing, listening to the rhythmical gait and trying to determine what was the source of it. The wish of no further disruption was ephemeral was something blared quietly in alarm. He tensed. They both did as Wolf quickly shut it off and his pacing stopped.

"Audio?" Alex's voice was casual.

"Can't say," He could hear the frown, "I'd say both."

Great.

"Let's grab dinner," Alex decided, standing up and placing the device and the wires into his pocket before grabbing his coat by the back of his chair.

Wolf agreed without a moment of hesitation and soon they were out the door, the wooden barrier clicked shut behind them and they were out of the frame of the camera in the room.

* * *

The leader placed his chin on his laced hands, his eyes never leaving the empty dormitory that the two brothers had just exited.

"They saw the camera," He concluded, leaning back and letting his hands rest on the armrest. The back tipped in his weight but he didn't allow himself to relax.

The woman frowned, "They did not look at it. How could you know?"

"Some sort alarm was sound," The leader explained, "The younger brother reacted to a noise. I'm sure of it. They left because they found out about the camera. It isn't a coincidence."

"What are you thinking about?" The youngest of them all was sat crossed-leg on the sofa, away from the conference table where the rest were seated.

"A bug sweeper."

"Why would they carry a bug sweeper with them?" The man on the opposite side of the table as the woman said.

"Perhaps," Robert shrugged easily, "They're undercover. You know? Like ninjas."

"Ninjas?" The absurdity of the suggestion was lost on none of them but at the same time, they held on to the idea of undercover.

"Maybe they're policemen," Robert caught himself, nearly having another heated argument with the other adults about the possibility of ninjas in the UK.

"The younger one," The leader shook his head, "He's too young to be a policeman."

The woman frowned, "His information put him as twenty years old. That's old enough to be a policeman."

"He can't be more than seventeen," The man arched an eyebrow, "He doesn't look twenty no matter _how_ you put it."

"All right," The leader leaned forward, "Heatherson, I want you to run a background check on both of them. Severstine, go down to the station, see if the inspector needs any _help_. Robert, continue watching the younger brother."

"You've got it, Troy," Robert said, leaping to his feet and ready to make for the door for dinner.

Troy stopped him, "Do whatever it takes to get Feighton. Separate him from the older brother. I don't care about the older brother."

"Gotcha!" As Robert paused by the door, he turned, the warm smile still on his face as he asked innocently, "Should I kill him?"

"No," Then, "Not yet."

* * *

They were having breakfast in the cafeteria when Robert appeared, his hair ruffled after bed and his shirt wrinkled and uneven but his face brightened up upon seeing them. Wolf didn't like the boy.

"Hey Feigh, hullo, Dean," Robert's warm voice made Alex turn his head, a small smile gracing his lips as the young man probably sense the incoming presence long before an arm was thrown across his shoulder and Robert slid into the chair adjacent to Alex's, "Hmm, sandwiches. Feigh, can you taste how many ingredients there are?"

Alex, without a moment of hesitation, complied to the ridiculous request, "There's bread, turkey, cheese," His partner frowned, chewing thoughtfully, and rather comically too but Wolf would never voice _that_ out-loud, "Lettuce and more cheese."

Robert reached over and plucked one of the cherry tomatoes from Alex's plate, "You forgot onion."

"I know," Alex chuckled, "I gave it to Dean. It's no longer part of my sandwich. Dean's very helpful in eating onions."

Robert turned toward Wolf's sandwich, visibly a layer higher due to Alex's unwanted onions that Wolf had no idea why he had agreed to help. He regretted that decision now, "Big brother's so nice."

The comment was laced with cloying honey but Wolf merely grunted, "If little brother can start eating his own vegetables, pigs will fly."

"Oh yeah?" Alex set down his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the napkin, "I'll show you a flying pig."

Robert's eyes brightened and he leaned in, completed with mock seriousness, "So earlier last year, I went to a farm."

They could both see where this was going.

"And I saw a pig," Robert grinned, "And it was flying."

"There," Alex said, grabbing the absurd statement without a second thought, "See, that's enough proof. Little brother does eat his own vegetables."

Wolf rolled his eyes as he set down his own sandwich and grabbed a fork, lifting the ring of onion from the top and landed the fork to Alex. The transition was smooth and flawless and Wolf almost smiled at the amazing adaptability the spy had shown to his blindness.

Alex opened his mouth and dramatically dropped the onion into his mouth. His expression turned from smugness to surprise then grossness as his tongue and mouth finally register the onion and its stinging taste. Robert laughed as Alex grabbed madly for his cup, nearly choking in the water as he desperately tried to drown out the taste.

Wolf smiled in victory, "You were saying?"

"This is murder!" Alex flapped a hand before his mouth as he tried to enunciate his words, " I told you I hate onions!"

"Don't be childish," Wolf generously took another fork and picked out the rest of his onions from his sandwich and placed it graciously in Alex's plate, completely enjoying the moment, "Here, have some more. Onions are good."

The precision of Alex's glare could easily laser-beam him into oblivion, "Thank you _so_ much."

"Don't worry, Feigh," Robert said as he took Alex's plate and began chewing on the onions, "I'll share your pain."

Alex smiled then glared at Wolf, "See, Dean? That's what good relationship is supposed to look like."

"He's making you soft."

"Speaking of which," Before Alex could retort, Robert butted in, "Do you wanna check out archery with me today?"

"You're joining?" Alex's voice was full of surprise.

"Just want to check it out," Robert shrugged, giving Wolf a quick glance, "Dean, wanna join us?"

He really wouldn't. But with Robert there, he was having second thoughts. Some lonely boy just _happened_ to meet Alex first day of school. Robert didn't look like he was bullied but somehow, Alex seemed to have taken the idea that Robert was the victim of some sort of school-wide bully. Sometimes, Wolf thought he saw mixed emotions in other students' eyes regarding Robert.

It wasn't condescension nor was it laughter.

It was fear.

And it unsettled him.

"I will g-" Wolf started but Alex rolled his eyes accompanying his interruption, "Dean doesn't like archery. Asking him to come is like dragging a century-old statue stuck-fast to the ground."

Robert grinned, "You sure, Dean? It can be fun."

Alex's eyes dared him to interfere with his investigation, "I'm good. Like Feigh said, I'm not a fan of archery."

"All right then," Robert clapped him on the shoulder, "I'll see you after school today?"

"See you," Alex smiled as his temporary companion left with one final wave, "He's pretty nice, isn't he? Kinda sad that he doesn't belong anywhere. Reminded me of one of my old friends."

"I doubt that," Wolf muttered.

"What?" Alex blinked, missing the softly uttered words.

"Nothing," He shook his head as he glanced at Alex who had picked up his sandwich again, "You know, I can come with you to archery."

"You don't believe that I can do it," Alex sounded faintly angry.

Wolf shook his head, "It's not that. I'm just not sure it's wise."

He expected Alex to shoot back, to get angry, to do anything _except_ what happened next. Alex closed his eyes and sighed. When they opened again, there was resignation written all over his feature, "I get it, Dean. I do. But trust me, this is for the best."

"What do you mean?"

Alex winked rather childishly, "You will see. Now, take your onions back. I hate them."

"No way. I hate them too."


	8. Troubled

Alex had dreamed, and when he woke up hours later, he was fighting off the memory of cold water biting into his skin. The sight of nothing eerily mirrored the nothingness that dragged him toward the bottom of the ocean. His eyes were wide open and his postures taunt, but he didn't make a sound.

Or maybe he did because it clearly woke Wolf. A fumbling, followed by a quick curse, was heard on the bunk above him. "It's four in the bloody morning."

"Well, thanks," Alex said dryly. "I wasn't going to ask."

"Then what? Gonna feel around for clock Brailles?" The ex-soldier above him snorted, the drowsiness slowly fading in both their tones.

Knowing that there were cameras in their room, Wolf had grown anxious and irritated over the past few days. Anxious because any slip-of-the-tongue could end up with them dead, and irritated for there were only so many topics that Alex and he could talk about without things going past the point of awkwardness.

"I need some air." The bunk creaked and the sound of feet on wooden ladder splattered to his left. Alex groaned and turned to face the wall. "You comin'?"

"I'm not going for a run at freaking four in the morning. In case you don't remember, Dean, I've got vision problems."

"There's less noise, you can sense things better. C'mon." Wolf gave his back a nudge with his sock-clad foot. "We can walk if that's better. No need to pull the blind card every two seconds."

Begrudgingly, Alex rolled over and chucked the pillow across the bed. The other raised end of the bed blocked its trajectory with a sounded oomph. At the same time, he pictured a white pillow following the same curve in his head. Was the light on? Was the shade dark enough? Was he imagining it correctly?

Sometimes, he just wanted to see so badly.

They hit the air five minutes later. It was chilling in the morning, and the air still smelled faintly of night. How, he didn't know, but he just knew. True to his words, Wolf didn't set off in a jog, instead, he opted to walk. Boots grounding against gravel, clothes rustling against clothes.

"We need to talk." Wolf began once they were well past the dorms and into the large field.

"We're talking now." The rustling made it hard to focus, and Alex blamed that for the irritation in his tone.

"I don't trust your friend Robert." Wow. _Blunt_. "And I don't trust Troy. We shouldn't solo anything until we've checked everything out." Wolf grounded out. "This isn't brute force, this is strategy."

"And I've been doing my thing longer than you have."

Wolf brushed past his comment. "Don't tell me you didn't sense anything wrong with Robert? A bit too enthusiastic?"

"You haven't met the whole 7 billion population on earth to say that," said a scoffing Alex.

"He gives off a wrong vibe. What do I have to say to get through your thick skull that you should be cautious around him?"

"Aw, you care."

"Don't be an ass about it." He could hear the frown in Wolf's voice. "And while you're at it, if you really want to do that archery club, keep your tone down. Don't whip out whatever jumps you have, be subtle. With the inspector going around, we need to keep our head down."

"I know, I know." Wolf was probably just anxious. Remembering Alex's own first mission, he sure had been nervous and anxious: nervous enough to spout off that stupid jellyfish comment. "But it's not ' _we'_ , Dean, it's ' _me'_ or ' _you'_ — _let me finish_ —we're not a package. And if we stop sticking around each other that often, we might have a better chance of being clued in."

Hopefully, before Inspector Chevalier uproot the whole school in search for the tiny whiff of illegality.

Alex tilted his head slightly, almost wishing he could see Wolf's expression to garner an emotion from him. Wolf might be expressive sometimes, especially when he was angry, but when he was silent there was no way to understand how he was feeling.

He wanted to tell Wolf about the inspector recognizing him, but he bit back his words. Should he? What good was it going to do? Wolf would only get more apprehensive, and knowing the ex-soldier's tendency to sometimes rush into things when thoughts became too jumbled, Alex was sure it wouldn't be a good idea.

Perhaps he should have a talk with the inspector.

Yeah, _no_. That would be one quick cover blown.

There was a long pause, _too long_ Alex thought before Wolf answered gruffly. "Fine. We will see."

He had the sneaking suspicion that Wolf had been watching him to read his emotions, and he hoped the words 'I'm hiding a secret' wasn't blatantly stamped all over. Wolf might not necessarily be wrong, but Alex hated to think that Robert was anything more than a normal civilian. Perhaps for just a little bit, he wanted at least a single piece of normality in his hectic life.

Alex just wasn't sure how he should phrase it. "What you gonna do in the meantime?"

"I'll deal with the police. We can't have two sides boxing us in."

Maybe that was the tactical difference between Wolf and him: Wolf had a broader spectrum while Alex focused instead on the details. They would either be a well-made team or catastrophe waiting to happen, and Alex certainly hoped that it wouldn't be the latter—and if they were, that the realization wouldn't hit too late.

"Okay," said Alex. "Let's go for a run."

"But you're—" At the last second, Wolf held his words back. "If you fall, I'm not picking you up."

"Likewise, likewise." He grinned back.

They set off at a slow pace, waiting for the sun to rise a few inches higher before they return. The sound of shoes on sand and gravel filled the air in military cadence, reminding Alex of a different place and a different time back at Brecon Beacons. Absently, Alex wondered how Bear was doing.

Well, they didn't end up on the wrong foot, but neither did they end up on the right one either. It was sort of like a tentative truce, both admitting that they had been at fault. They had both been too caught up in the heat of the events to have clear thoughts.

He knew the death of Ferret and Leopard had hit Bear hard; it had been hard for the both of them, even if neither were willing to admit it out loud. Bear had his facade to maintain, and Alex had his own reason. He didn't want to experience the deaths over again. He didn't want anyone else to die because of his inability.

Yassen caught him unprepared.

Jack was enough.

Perhaps after this mission, he should really talk to Bear. He was leading K-Unit now, but Alex knew that bond he had had with his old team couldn't ever be replaced. It just wasn't the same.

How was Wolf dealing with it? Wolf had stayed somewhat silent throughout their path, only grunting every here and then to inform Alex of obstacles. How was Wolf dealing with the sudden change of operations? He wasn't with a team anymore, he was with just Alex. A two-man team for a job that probably would suit a four-man unit better.

Alex wanted to ask Wolf about his decision: why did he join MI6? For Fox, the reason was clear. Fox was independent, they'd all slowly realize. Fox worked well both in a team as well as on his own, but his skill sets leaned him toward MI6.

So what was Wolf's reason? His skill as a tactical leader clearly weighed heavier in assaults than in espionage. He remembered asking the soldier about it, and Wolf had told him it was mostly Bear's idea.

Wolf was too…stuck up. Sometimes a bit too straight-forward. Point and shoot. Double tap. Packages. Those were _not_ the terminologies Alex would ever use on a mission.

Wolf had stayed strangely silent throughout, each to their own thoughts, except for the occasional grunt to alert Alex to the obstacles he couldn't feel. Alex didn't know the exact time of their return to the heated interior of their dorms, but it was only minutes before they headed out for classes again.

He shouldn't deviate from the mission right now. Focus on the present, he could deal with the side dramas a little later.

* * *

Ian might not have been a spy or part of the espionage, but he had dabbled enough in his late brother's affairs to know that trust wasn't something that was earned, but rather the prize behind a wall weathered down through time. Yet often times he found himself throwing out bits and pieces of his trust, hoping that at least one of them would grow into something magnificent.

And he told himself that was the reason behind him calling Evans into his office. "Shut the door behind you."

His new assistant complied before settling himself comfortably in a standing position in front. Pale features became paler under the whitewash of light, and the blue eyes shades lighter in harshness.

"I want you to look into one of the students for me," Ian said, pulling out a folder from the stacks neatly organized on his desk. "Feighton Winchester. I want to know everything about him, who he is, where he's from, and who that half-brother is."

"Why?"

Ian's eyes hardened in calculations, but the decision came easily. "I have my suspicions. His file is crisp clean, too normalized for a school like that. He also strangely reminds me of someone I know." The officer didn't need to know that, but perhaps that would give him an added incentive. "It's an under-the-radar job, and everything I said stays in this room."

"Understood."

"Good, get it done. While you're at it, see what he's up to, but don't make it too obvious: that half-brother of his is rather perceptive."

 _Half-_ brother. Ian could laugh at that. Despite the obviously bogus claim, the two brothers looked nothing alike. There was something fishy about the two, but at the same time, it wasn't the typical vibe Ian would get from suspicions—perhaps it was the way Feighton reminded him of his young nephew (as well as Ian's brother).

"Should I look into his brother as well?"

"Yes," Ian dismissed. "You will undoubtedly cross paths when you're looking into the boy."

"Understood."

Ian watched Evans leave the office in his typical soft gait. The door shut behind him, and he sat watching the closed door for a few moments. He still wasn't sure if 'trusting' Evans to do the job was the right thing to do, but what was the harm? Evans didn't know his nephew, and with the man's connections, he could easily pull up files that could not be legally accessed.

The joy of unlawfulness.

He waited until he was sure the officer was far before laying out the files on an Anthony Evans and Silver Barsad. With a shake of his head, Ian sighed. He _knew_ Silver wasn't as loyal as he pretended to be, especially after watching his expression when he presented him the picture of Yassen Gregorovich. There was something even more fishy with Evans. Pale skin. Brown eyes (presumably contact lenses). He wasn't immediately recognizable beneath the dyed brown hair, but the resemblance was there alright.

There was no mistake that he was Yassen Gregorovich. And there was no mistake that the international assassin knew he knew—and wanted him to know.

Silver, on the other hand, was deadly with a gun. Ian hadn't reckoned Gregorovich to be a man who valued companionship, but then, the world could change people in the snap of a finger. Perhaps that was the assassin considering an early retirement through action rather than words.

* * *

Wolf had a nagging suspicion that Coyote was enjoying the mission more than he was letting on. Not that Coyote didn't need the chance to unwind his stubbornness, but this wasn't a field trip. Mildly annoyed, Wolf glanced at the man sitting to the right of him. Coyote was doodling away on a piece of paper, and it was tempting to lean over to see what monstrosity the man had conjured up.

Coyote couldn't see, Wolf supposed he had to cut the man some slack for that. Not for the first time, he wondered what was Mrs. Jones thinking and if she needed to have her own sight checked out. She was patronizing Coyote too much, hindering his growth.

"Hey," Wolf said, dragging Coyote aside as soon as the bell rang.

"Yeah?" Coyote didn't look all too surprised. An improvement, really, from when he was skittish at every contact.

"I'll drop by the police precinct after school," he muttered. "See if I can find out how much the inspector knows."

"You sure that's wise?"

"Wiser than sitting ducks."

"Right." Coyote didn't sound like he was on board, but Wolf didn't need his wholehearted approval anyway. Separate was better, wasn't that what the man said? "Hopefully you don't ask any stupid questions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Coyote said it all too quickly. Yeah, right. _Nothing_ his ass.

Not wanting to battle against the rush of students in the hallway, they slowly moved along. "You said we should work alone, and that's what I'm doing."

"That's not what I mean," said the man. "It's just not the way I'd handle a mission."

Wolf growled, glared, then swallowed his pride for a tad fracture. They were bound to crash, better get it out of the way first. Coyote and his fragile ego. "Then pray tell, how would you handle it?"

Coyote just stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Then he sighed and said, "Maybe something less subtle."

"Straight up asking wasn't my plan either."

"Not saying it was," said Coyote dryly, sounding like the absurd act had been his exact thought. Wolf felt very offended. "Anyway, I'll see you at lunch? Well, not _see_ , but—"

"Yeah yeah," Wolf rolled his eyes, feeling an uncharacteristic tug on the corners of his lips.

Wolf watched him go, navigating the crowds slowly. Robert appeared by his side moments later and placed a hand on his shoulder to easily push them through the crowds. While Wolf understood Coyote's reluctance to admitting that Robert was anybody but who he said he was, Wolf had a hard time warming up to Robert and his childish antics.

The bullied kid? Snugging up to a blind man? How old did Robert say he was? Wolf would put him as barely eighteen, but definitely not innocent of crimes. He wouldn't trust Robert as far as he could throw him. Maybe Coyote did know and was pretending otherwise to gain the kid's trust. Wolf really doubted that. Anyway, he supposed he had to give Coyote that barest trust if this mission was to go somewhere.

Wolf breezed past the fourth period without paying more than half a mind on the professor. He just really couldn't wait till school was over. When he had signed up to become a spy—really, he hadn't signed up, Mrs. Jones had asked—he wasn't expecting a throwback Thursday of old school memories. School wasn't a place he wanted to revisit. Once was enough.

When he told Alex that him becoming an agent had partially been Bear's idea, he hadn't been lying but it wasn't the whole truth either. Mrs. Jones had asked him to keep an eye on Coyote, and, especially after what had happened with the blown-up church, it would be good for him. At first, Fox wanted the assignment—Fox was close to Coyote and they definitely had a long history—but the head of MI6 decided that it would a good debuting mission for Wolf if he ever decided to want to become a spy.

Damn MI6 and their poaching. Wolf had no intention of becoming a spy because he didn't like all the behind-the-back business that was their unspoken motto. Bear had asked him to at least consider the offer, from one unit leader to another, and dammit there was no way he could refuse the man who had lost all but one thing.

"Hey, Dean?" Wolf's head snapped up in annoyance at the voice. Robert. Great.

Not having enough time to school in his load of displeasure, Wolf answered gruffly. "Yeah?"

"Uh," Robert paused. "You okay?"

"Great. What do you want?"

"Um, Feigh wants to let you know that he's not gonna be joining you at lunch. Something came up."

At this, Wolf gave the kid his full attention. "Why? What came up?"

Robert winced. "He kinda failed the assessment. Mrs. Heatherson wanted to give him a one-on-one."

"Really?" Wolf narrowed his eyes. Wouldn't Coyote come to tell him that personally, knowing that Wolf didn't trust Robert?

"Uh. Yeah. So," Robert said carefully, sliding into the seat in front. "You want company?"

"Not really," Wolf managed as he chewed, but just as Robert was about to leave, dejected, Wolf stopped him. "Fine. Sit."

Robert grinned and bounced back into the seat. "Knew you'd come around."

Now was a good time to question the kid without Coyote nagging at him for his paranoid behavior. Better safe than sorry, screw Coyote's optimistic mindset. "Tell me about yourself."

Robert stared at him blankly, so Wolf tried again. "Feigh thinks you're being bullied, but I doubt that."

The kid furrowed his brows in confusion. "I, well, some people pick on me, but it's not a big deal. Feigh's really empathetic, I think, but I'd never use anything like this to gain his friendship."

"I don't know what you're up to but," Wolf said slowly. "Feigh trusts you and that's something." The words felt stupid once they'd been said, but it was too late to take it back now.

"I know." Clearly getting the idea that he wasn't really all that welcomed, Robert stood up. "I'm just gonna…go check on Feigh. Bye."

Wolf watched him go before sighing loudly, putting his fork down. Yeah, he'd definitely hear it later from Coyote.

* * *

Alex was half a lesson in on his recorder when he heard someone calling his name. He pulled the earbuds out of his ear and turned to the source. Wolf. Of course it was Wolf. The ex-soldier cleared his throat to gave Alex his general direction. Before Wolf could start speaking, however, Alex had a piece of mind he wanted to share with Wolf.

Alex hadn't gotten the chance to talk with after lunch nor immediately after school, but now he had plenty of time. "So I had a talk with Robert today."

"Yeah, about that—"

"You know what he said?" Alex interrupted the man. "Actually, never mind that, I'm too embarrassed to even repeat what he said. But what the hell were you thinking, Dean?"

Wolf grunted. "I don't like him."

"Oh, because he's taller than you?"

That elicited a growl but thankfully Wolf knew better. "Funny, really funny. Keep that up, and I'm gonna leave you in here while I go grab dinner."

Alex rolled his eyes, placed the recorder into his jacket, and pulled the clothing over his figure. "Doesn't mean I'm forgiving you."

The two of them were well aware of the camera in their room, and it was making their every conversation difficult. As soon as Wolf shut the door behind them, however, Alex ducked his head and grinned. He wished he had been able to see Wolf's expressions.

"Sorry," Alex said unapologetically with a snort.

Wolf just growled as he ushered Alex down the hall and out the door.

"But seriously," Alex lowered his voice. "What were you thinking? I mean, fine, you don't like Robert and you think he's not trustworthy. If he really is part of the organization, you'd be tipping them off."

"It's well within my character."

"Oh yeah, what's that? Asshole half-brother?"

"Keep talking," Wolf dared threateningly.

"Or what?"

"That's it, you're getting water for dinner."

Alex just laughed.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A.N.: can't believe I updated. I'm really sorry guys, I just got back from vacation and break so far's looking up. I'll try to update soon but no promises :3 I just wanna say a quick thanks to everybody who has encouraged me to keep updating this one (you know who you are ahaha don't be shy I've read your review :3), and I'm also really sorry that I keep starting new stories heh.


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